It Lives

It's specific, yet indefinable, the change. When the figure in clay has a name and comes to be he.

Forgiveness, please.

First of all, I must apologize in advance to Roland and Robert. Of course,you did invite me to chronicle this commission....
I'm not sure exactly how it happened, but your angel seems, despite all his and all my struggles against it, to possess, well...
...a frosted side.
Ok, I'm kidding with the bow tie and horns... But I'm seeing who he is and...I think I'm in love.

So now, on this blog, before legions of our peers, I ask you to forgive me. Your angel has taken a turn to the dark side. Possibly it's my own doing. I'm not sure which came first----his turning or my coming to refer to him as "bad boy."

I don't hate the horns...

Send in the Clowns

I’m very pleased to say Gene Wolfe has decided to write a story based on The Children's Hour from Halloween. (Yesterday’s post image is a detail from that piece.)
Gene Wolfe is so very cool…. He’s so cool that when I sit next to him I feel cool too. The chapbook is coming from DreamHaven, is called Strange Birds and will be released for Balticon 40.

**********************

I’m using a mix of hard green wax and a fairly firm modeling clay. (I get both from http://www.monstermakers.com/ . Good stuff, nice catalog.) The wax has a low melting point and hardens almost immediately---even faster in winter.
I found it more difficult at first than soft clays like Fimo or even Plastilina, but keeping a bit of it warmed in a glue warmer, along with keeping tools warm there too, works.

The technique is a bit different, more carving than molding---so I’m using different tools. It has a low elasticity, so little stretch. Any techniques requiring stretching or pressing would have to be done quickly.

The advantage is that the hard clay holds even the sharpest edge detail well and can be finely finished. It’s nearly impossible to get this quality of original with softer clays. When using those, I’d have to make the clay original, make a ‘waste’ rubber mold, cast the figure in resin or wax hard enough to finish.

It’s a sort of trade off---. Personally, I prefer to put the time into sculpting the original, then casting it in the resin marble mix, which can be polished much like stone.
It’s my preference for figurative pieces.

***********************

So, yes, I’m making an attempt to take better care of myself. I’m told I’m horrible at it.
I haven’t really wanted any sugar today, and I ate leaves twice.
I’m not overly fond of leaves.

*******************

There were some real zingers in the studio today. Ben and I were on fire.
I mentioned that.
He said that all it takes is a bit of misery in both our lives.

Send in the clowns.

************
Tonight I have begun reading the file of what Bob Podrasky tells me are the best of the TINY STORIES, the project entries.

This is such a cool project. I'm enjoying the reading. I anticipate the work ahead. These weeks are and will be work intense. But then I'll play for a bit, put stuff back in my head and, like the Pretender, get up and do it again.

That's as good as it gets.

Coffee, Black

I’ve decided that I’d rather do without the taste of sugar than use any of the alternatives. They all suck.
Well, that’s it then.
We’re going to black and not looking back.
Splenda is for pussies.

I’ve been having sort of an ongoing discussion with Gene Wolfe about doing things with ‘joyful abandon.’ I think, if I don’t pay attention, I might forget how.

Fearless, happy abandon came so naturally back when I had a rubber skeleton, jumping from the roof of my parent’s house. Jumping with a bucket on my head took things to a whole new level.
It was worth the punishment.
Dessert is for pussies.

I sometimes paint with the same reckless joy I apply to dancing with Orion. Or, in really good moments, I think that way, getting completely lost in the color blue, or ‘seeing’ tonal music as shapes.

Mostly, making art seems to be about discipline. The work requires reason and deeper emotion, experience and skill, tools and knowledge. It requires being aware of cause and effect, and of actions and consequences.

Sometimes the discipline is a matter of keeping at that one thing until I get it right.
Sometimes getting that one thing right is more important than just about anything else. Sometimes that one thing---that light, that paragraph, that step, that angle, that inflection--- will define everything that comes after.
Once in a while, getting it right takes just about everything I’ve got.
Sleep is for pussies.

The real trick is knowing whether the matter calls for keeping at it, or for letting it go. Sometimes the right thing is to just paint a snowflake over it and move on.

There are consequences for choosing keep at it, when I should let it go, and vice versa.

I was told once that it usually takes about ten years to figure this out.
They were right, it does.

Currently, I’m keeping at it, and drinking coffee, black.

g'night

Looking Outward While Looking Inward

Why it is, I’m not sure, but it’s always been the sky for me. My favorite, I think, is to be six or younger with my face tilted back while snowflakes flutter down to land on my eyelids. I can go there,truly, with some effort and at a cost. Perhaps it’s my favorite because I was raised in the Deep South, and snow and ice were fleeting and rare. But there are other skies--a whole mosaic of colors and temperatures and water falling in one form or another, or not at all. Out here in the desert it’s the wind, especially on nights like this when the air is cold and clean as the edge of a fine knife. It howls tonight. It screamed all day, giving such performances that we haven’t done much more than lie around together, playing or reading quietly, all in our own spaces, with our own thoughts, strung together by the constant roar.
We’re a little fuzzy on cold meds. I’ve gone outside several times to watch the palm trees whipping around overhead, thinking the life in the winds would somehow transfer their energies to me, opening a larger view and giving focus.
It refreshes each time, but the exhilaration ends when I come back inside. It’s too cozy in here for work, especially with Orion and Gurtie curled up napping on the floor.

But, work I must. There is much to sculpt and paint and think, to package and file and write. I’ll be back to it tomorrow morning for sure, with a vengeance, and glad for resting today.
******
Rebecca sent this one:

Agnus Dei,
Lamb of God

Crus de Agnus Dei con quilon menthae,
Leg of Lamb of God with mint jelly

******
I've just finished Gene Wolfe's "On Blue's Waters." If you're wondering, see the photo I posted as I finished "Exodus." I am reacting in somewhat the same fashion, but I know more than I did. I've concluded that Pete is right, it is imperative to read the Long Sun books before reading the Short Sun books. Elsewise, stroke is a risk. I'll not go to any of the message boards or sites. Not because I'm not geeky enough to, but because I just don't have the time.
********
I need cold air. I need intense studio hours. I need to rant on about things I tend to rant on about. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.

The blog is officially one year old tonight. That feels a little strange. It's fitting, really, that I post no bells and whistles, that I write about the wind. I'd thought, weeks ago, that I should write something profound tonight. Something stirring and inspiring. But that's not how this works, is it? It's the every day, as it happens. Some of you came in from the beginning, then more trickled in, then more and now we are legion, meeting here on this page every day.
I told Ravyn I'd give it a year, and I have. I'd kind of like to see where we go. This promises to be an interesting year. I'll be very happy, and very, very grateful, as always, to have you with me. So, let's try it for another?

g'night

Friday the 13th and then some

So, it was indeed Friday the 13th, but we decided we were brave souls, and set out in plenty of time for the airport in Long Beach, only to become hopelessly snarled in traffic, or thwarted by some strange time warp (did I mention we left in plenty of time?) and Ravyn missed her flight by the merest of fractions. After about ten minutes of panic we took refuge in a cute little coffee shop with cookies and coffee to figure things out.
In the end, Ravyn's spousal unit found her a flight out of Palm Springs for Saturday morning, so we drove back home, had lovely conversation, made a silicone mold for "Emily", watched some wicked funny commercials on Ravyn's laptop, listened to Aubrey's afternoon epiphany and had a lovely extra day.
This morning I sent her off with a breathtakingly beautiful full moon hovering just over the mountains.

Now I must take care of all things domestic and studio-wise which were horribly neglected for the sake of art and friendship. I owe many emails, several packages with little sculptures and a number of phone calls.

Aubrey, Orion and I are all about half sick with colds, a little fuzzy but getting on with the fireplace and green tea. I shall tidy up a bit because soon Ben will be here for project work and Strange Fish begs for completion.

have a good weekend.

Finally, Neil's sculpture in motion...

Ravyn and I mostly spent the day working on the new gallery site, which will be officially open on March 1. Then we took a break to work on Balticon Art. After that, she enjoyed a rare winter nap outside in the sunshine while I, back in the studio, had a nice breakthrough with the "Strange Fish" painting.

Orion, who is under the weather with a cold, is cocooned in his blankets with his juice and Samurai Jack for company. I can hear Ravyn and Aubrey playing FLUX in the dining room. It sounds like lots of fun actually, but the Lisa can't sit still just yet.

I did try the corset on yesterday. Ironically(?) the one Ravyn chose for me is made of lambskin, and was surprisingly comfortable, though it was a bit weird for someone who feels most comfortable in plain tee and jeans decorated only with bits of paint my apron didn't catch. I'll be seeing the Fabulous Lorraine Lorraine a' Malena again soon. I'll take said item with me so she can help me match it with something other than my frayed old Levis. Getting out of the corset almost felt familiar, perhaps a strait jacket or other in some incarnation or dream of mine ( which might explain a couple of things.) But, getting into the corset, as far as I can see, is a two-person operation at best. I can see I'll need an escort to the Goddess party, preferably someone who can pull and tie strings...

Aubrey got some video footage of Luck Be Nimble, Fate Be Quick in motion and fittingly coupled it with music from Kronos Quartet's "Black Angels". The lighting is a bit atmospheric and dark, so the colors are muted, but those of you who know this sculpture might like seeing it in motion.

Click here to go to the large animation, 4.6MB Quicktime MOV file

OR

Click here to go to a smaller MPEG4 animation, 599KB


Gurtie is curled up next to me. She doesn't say hello. She says "Stop typing and rub me." I shall.

g'night

Ravyn is here. Orion made stars.

Ravyn is here! She brought, among other things, some fiber optic to play with, so we did. She also brought evil, evil chocolate from Columbia.

This morning we are up, still in pajamas, waiting for the sun to warm everything. Hmm. That should take about half an hour. Then we get to work, in the studio and on the website.

I hear corsets are coming out later...

I'll keep you posted.

Sunday morning

I like waking early on weekends. It's still chilly enough to have a fire, but later will be warm enough for shorts. I can have coffee, listen to music and read knowing there's nowhere to go today. Ahhhhh. Not so many days like this anymore.

Aubrey introduced me to Neutral Milk Hotel. It wasn't until I heard the entire CD that I got a real appreciation for their In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. I love that each song is so surprisingly different from the next but mostly, it's the poetry of the lyrics and the raw honesty of the vocalist. Really good stuff.

Amity sent me a couple of CD's, one of Jacques Brel that I will so enjoy sharing with my friend, Methchilde who speaks beautiful French and goes to Paris at every opportunity, and the other a mix so eclectic I can't name it, which has been given a permanent home in the studio. Thanks!

My wet suit came on Friday. I think I'll test it out today. The water temp is currently 49F, which in my mind, definitely requires neoprene.

Ravyn arrives tomorrow morning for five intense days of remodeling the website. Some wacky fun too. And Ben cooking for us, Mexican and Korean.

The best part of the morning is watching Orion sleep. He's starting to stir now and soon the phone will be ringing.

If you don't get the Times, and are looking for an article perfect for coffee, here's one
Did Jesus Exist? Court Decision Sent to me from Rebecca.

Humans are so funny.

have a good Sunday.

Ben Jumps In

High Ho everybody, and welcome to my first post for Slaughterhouse.
Lisa suggested that I tell you a little something about myself… Hmm, lets see. I got married this last year. Lisa, being my best friend, was also my Best Man at the wedding. Which was beautiful by the way.
Despite (possibly due to?) having both a priest and a rabbi, the marriage died of complications 7 weeks later and was lain to rest in a tasteful closed-casket ceremony attended by close friends and family.
Single females may send their sympathies c/o this address.
On return to the SlaughterHouse, I’m back into the full time swing of mold making, sculpture casting and my personal favorite, engineering kinetic and animated art pieces with Lisa who seems happy to have me back.
You might be a little interested in how our collaborative process works. This morning it went down like this: We’re talking, cracking jokes and slamming each other mercilessly. During this little verbal warm up, I’m sweeping up about a pound of dust mixed with shipping peanuts. Lisa, for whatever incomprehensible reason she has, instead of biting the sandwich she’s holding, bounces a piece of it off me. I sweep it up. She bounces another. I sweep it up. Never breaking conversational stride.
After about the seventh bounce and sweep, nearly in unison, I say, “This would make a cool kinetic, and Lisa says “We could make this.”We start figuring out how to make it work.
Ahh, good times. I love working with Lisa.
Until next time.
Bent.

Aubrey checks in

Finally, a hello from Aubrey, who is very often behind the camera and almost never in front of it. She is enjoying a monochromatic phase, so she actually let me post this one I took of her.

Sleep was indeed the fix, and I plan to get some again tonight. What a grand idea.

More studio work today, a carousel animal to finish and more wax work on the angel.

I've heard that Lost and Found is the next project in line at Cemetary Dance. I have lots of work ready to send for that. I'll keep you posted.

I now have the entries chosen for Tiny Stories on hand, all neatly packed into a tiny little data stick. Fitting, isn't it? I will begin reading those very soon, a few at a time. I'll keep you posted about that as well.

My father approached every project he worked on "like he was fighting fire." Everybody liked saying that about him, especially my mother. I am his daughter. I knew this month would be a little nuts and sometimes projects require late hours. But, if I can achieve it, balance is better.
Still, I remember his quiet, intense, "Always hit the ground running, kid. Hit the ground running."
Sure dad, I do. But not every time I jump.
Sometimes, I hit the ground laughing.


g'night

No substitute for sleep

It occurs to me that when I mentioned Ron Walotsky the other night I should have put up links to his work. There are lots of sites, but I kind of liked this interview Crescent Blues Artist Interview: "Ron Walotsky: The Fine Art of Covers".

I've had two weird days in a row. Yesterday I started feeling a bit out of focus and conversations felt awkward. More of the same today, along with dropping things, tripping over things and just sort of staring when people ask me questions, particularly, "What the hell's wrong with you today?"

Any number of things could be contributing but mostly, when I start to drop things, it means I've gone for too many nights with too little sleep. Another night and my brain will start to get weird, and not in a good way.

Gene Wolfe has begun work on Strange Birds, I have begun work on Strange Fish, and the male "Relic" is shaping up. I'll try to get some photos up tomorrow and tell you about this amazingly wonderful wax from Monster Makers.

I found a copy of "Late Night Thoughts on Listening to Mahler's Ninth Symphony" (Blogger's dashboard has no provision for underlining titles---or not one that I've found.) by Lewis Thomas in the little used bookstore where I usually sit on the floor with coffee and read while my car is getting washed. And, I got an email saying my wet suit was shipped today.

Today's Bennisms: Remember, Thou art mortal. and I like endorphins, they're delicious.

Okay then. There's nothing else but to get some sleep. I'd prefer dream-free, but I'll take what I can get.

g'night

The Why of it

I painted tonight. I had a list of things to do in the studio that didn't involve painting. Generally, I do the things that should be done. But tonight I didn't. I put it all away and painted.

Sometimes, the work is like this.

Once in a while, the work gets so much like this, all else disappears,
and the work becomes everything,
and, for just that little while,
I get it.

For a moment, I get it. It's one more brief glimpse at all that rings true.


I so miss Ron Walotsky. He was many things to me, layers and levels of artist and friend but, of all that, the most important thing about Ron was really that he got it.

g'night

Inhumi....the what, what???

One of the cool things about the new year is that it sort of comes with a clean slate. Yesterday it was January first. I was good, so no hangover, and hadn't had time to screw anything up! The day went brilliantly, beginning with great progress on the new Relic piece and ending in wondrous fashion with Orion and I sitting outside in the darkness, listening to a whole parliament of owls.

It's oddly rainy and dark and chilly today. I like it. A lot. But it's not quite enough of what my head needs. I'm not done with winter. I must have a bit more cold air and snow to finish what I'm working on, I think.

This morning began early, with coffee and the last twenty pages or so of Gene Wolfe's Exodus from the Long Sun. Pete has dogged me for the last month as I've traveled through 1500 pages or so. He's caught me at a number of plot turns, nasty surprises and what-the-hell-is-going-on-here rants. His glee at my discomfiture would earn him a good monkey outta nowhere if not for its innocent jubilance. He's been watching me take a ride he loved. He missed today's brain noogy. He was away when the last pages of Exodus took everything I thought I'd learned, twisted it, turned it inside out, painted it blue and stuck a cherry on top.

I understand only now why he wanted to see it, so this post is especially for him.

I adore Gene. I'm having a great time working with him and getting to know him better. If not, I'd be inclined to kick him in the shin. As it were, I'll hug him and tell him I'd like to kick him in the shin.
Sheesh.
Still, I've got to say, if you enjoy a good ride, it's worth the aneurysm. I will indeed go on to "On Blue's Waters."
If I have any advice to offer first time readers, it would be thus:
1. You don't know Jack Shit.
And
2. They're all bastards.

Well. Here we go again... 

Skies

The painting is done. The photography is done. The prints are on their way to author and publisher. So, yesterday Orion and I played some Little Tikes basketball and after, I lay in the sun and worked on nothing but my tan. Okay, I at least neutralized the blue.

But this morning I look out on the deck and it's a different place. The sky is dark and forboding. The empty chairs, the canopies the trees, are still and waiting.
The sky is more and more like the painting.

The pool beckons. I so miss swimming. I'm thinking seriously about looking for a wet suit so I can stand the cold. These thoughts may pass soon. My reprieves are generally very short lived. Our dinner guests will go tonight, tomorrow will be a new year and likely, I'll be back in the studio before everyone else has breakfast.

Then, it's hours until then. Lots could happen. And I'm thinking about slicing through cold, cold water.

Happy New Year. Have fun. Be safe.

Chirp, chirp

It's a normal day when I take coffee into the studio with me. When I take a carton of orange juice, it's serious. I'll be gone for a bit, doing whatever it takes to make the art that needs to happen, happen.
You can thank Ben for the photo. I thank him too, for keeping me from falling into chasms, and Pete, for handling everything there is to handle so that, once in a while, I can disappear.
But then, I'll come back. I always do, so far...
chirp
chirp

Year of the Rat

Hi everyone, it's Ravyn, Lisa's webmaster, graphic artist, and Number One Flunky....

While the Boss Rat is busy doing her thing, i thought i'd say a few things about rats :-)

According to Chinese astrology, 2005 was the year of the Rooster, but, around here it seems like it was truly the year of the Rat. Quite a number of ratties joined the family this year: Vanda, Harlan, Ravyn (Blogger), Grim, Grammy, and..... the as-yet-unnamed "G" rat that i commissioned as a Christmas gift for my hubby.

Here is my mom (Grammy herself) on Christmas night, Grammy rat in hand, and her three grand"ratties". From left to right: Jenny, Ally, and Nikki. My mom is thrilled with the Grammy rat - she actually requested it, after taking possession of a Poe rat. And Lisa really enjoyed doing the baby ratties.

Here is a photo i took of the G rat, when he arrived (conveniently as the hubby was out doing some last-minute Christmas shopping, hehe). i'll post a photo of G with his rat soon. He is not Scottish, but he sure looks good in a kilt, and i thought it would make a really cool rat.....

i really love the way Lisa can put so much personality into these tiny sculptures. i guess that's why i've commissioned so many - i look at them as little rattie portraits - and everyone loves being "immortalized" as a rat.


More rats are coming.....

Sleep, please

Maybe it's just me, but I was wondering if it's just my kids who, shortly into Christmas morning, have secured the Darth Vader Voice Changing Mask onto the Furby?

I don't know. Maybe kids all over are doing just that.

I do know that I passed the shelf a moment ago and Vader's voice, quite distinctly, began to sing.

....lullabye, lullabye...


Now the eldest sit around a tiny table engrossed in Orion's Playdoh Chomp and Chew Diner. I just heard Bridget exclaim "This is so cool. I didn't know it would be so demented!"
Orion, non-plussed, plays Tak...

Mom soaks it up for later, and sometimes dreams of painting. Oh and sleeping. A bit of sleeping would be very good.

From our front door to you...Merry, Happy and Joy to you all. 

another near silence

I seem to be the last person standing in a house full of people after a long day of cooking, shopping, laughing, tidying, hanging lights and putting bright red scarves, hats and bows on a plethora of black rubber rats.
Ok, well, Gurtie is up too, on my lap enjoying the lights and helping me answer dozens of emails. I love that word, dozen. It's one of those that gets weird on you when you put a bit of effort into it.
It was a good day, with parodies of mom, old stories and familiar zingers thrown between sibs. It was a good day of the last piece of another project falling into place unexpectedly. This one involves art by myself and stories set to them by Gene Wolfe and which should be out in the spring.

Tomorrow we'll all be here together, each bringing bits and pieces of all the other times we've spent together on such days and nights. Tomorrow will add it's bits to the montage that holds past and present.
It's a colorful, many textured, ever changing thing that looks a bit different to each of us, and is cherished by all.

Now I'll reluctantly remove a warm Gurtie from my lap, turn out all these lights and sleep.

All my best to you,
G'night

12:12 and all is well

It's just past midnight and the house is mostly dark and very quiet. Tomorrow night, daughters and sons and friends will begin to gather, filling it with sound and light. We are strange birds and we will make strange bird noises. We will tell stories that only strange birds would tell and make jokes only strange birds could understand.
We will cluster around tables of food and light and celebrate being strange birds in the way that only strange birds do.

Strange birds everywhere will do the same.


While I have a quiet moment to say it; wherever you are, (or who, or what, or why, or how) thank you and.....Peace.

g'night

Magic Worm Blower

Today was actually a regular sort of work day, except that calls and emails and packages kept coming in all day with funny and nice birthday wishes. Thanks to everyone for good wishes and comments too!
Among my favorite gifts were a singing e-card from Hy that Orion and I spent twenty minutes watching over and over and each time, collapsing into the chair laughing, a new Bill Hicks dvd from David (who is Aubrey’s dad and my friend.) Then, there's the graphic from Ravyn, which is exactly what I must deserve for making her a rat, twice. My favorite thing about the graphic is that the puppet has the look of a puppet who has been slipped a very puppety surprise.

In the goodie bag from Ben, (among things I shan’t name here and one thing that absolutely has no name and if it does I don’t want to know) is a Magic Worm Blower. I’m so touched. It’s just f*d up enough that I know he means it from the heart. Awwwww…

Soon off for an obscenely good dinner at one of my favorites and Kong, later, with friends (from Pete)

Hmm. Now I must find some of those Magic Worms....


Later!

I thought you were entitled to the Magic Worm Blower instructions as well, then I realized that I cut off the bottom, which says:

Keeps crawlers off the bottom, increases the size of skinny crawlers.

--Talk about your nematode hell. SHEESH So wrong, on so many levels. Ben loves me.

Happy Birthday, Evil Boss Lady :-)

i'm a bit behind i know, but, i've finally finished my little "portrait" of my evil RatBoss (hmmmm a boss Rattie.....), for her 29th birthday.....

Here's the link to the original photo that i "traced" with Adobe Illustrator to make the "portrait"

Since she's on the left coast, i'm not *quite* as late as i could be, hehe.

Soooooo, HAPPY BIRTHDAY BOSS!!!!

(oh, and you ROCK!)

Done, not undone

There is a mountain of boxes by the front door. The gift pieces are all done and I rewarded myself with the longest, hottest shower in the history of this house. Clear white zen.
The holiday project was hard work. I learned a lot and will be happy to share. Overall, it has been a good experience. I'm honored so many wanted me to make things for people they love. Very cool indeed.

The studio is papered with notes and quick sketches. I think I mentioned a while back that I work whether I'm inspired or not because good ideas nearly always find their way to the surface when I'm working. Maybe it just puts my brain on the correct channel. Unfortunately it works this way when I'm not looking for new ideas at all.

Next is a January of finishing up projects already in the works, a male version of Relic (I'm really looking forward to doing), a painting to replace "Star Play" at Worlds of Wonder. And, the fortune teller, who's wheel is now done.

Now I'm sitting looking at the fire and thinking about water. Years ago I wanted to make a sculpture that would work best underwater. Something that currents would move in a way that winds couldn't. It's not very practical, true. And some of my friends, okay, most of my friends, thought it funny. It can be funny, sure, but I still don't hate the idea. Maybe one day, many years from now. I can dream, can't I? Beats shuffleboard. Besides, I have no idea how shuffleboard is played, just that my grandmother played it and it looked really, really boring.

There's no Ben-ism for today, because there was no Ben. Music though (as you seem to be enjoying this):
Neutral Milk Hotel
Hindemuth
Charles Ives
A ballet mix (Ballintine)
Tool
Bad Religion
Toad the Wet Sprocket
John Prine

Last week I couldn't find a spring on the floor. Tonight I can't find the floor. But the door stands out. It states, in big orange letters, "Nothin' can go wrong now!". I close it behind me.

Sleeeeeeeeeeeeep. Tomorrow is another day and we will each be a little changed.

G'night

Kitty Evil?

The studio is a dangerous place right now. Looking around, one can see numerous pointy, slashy, poisonous, mashy ways to die, or at least earn an ambulance ride. Orion is not allowed in here until we clean this place up, including our holiday language. Still, we are busily sending holiday gifts like the elves we are and all to arrive in time.

I can hear Orion from the other room. Lately, he's attaching the word "now" to all his requests. "Want to play with me now?" "I want chips please now." "Can we ride in the gold car now?" I noticed the 'now' adds a mysterious new layer of cuteness, and could possibly be somehow, cutely evil. Now, with distance between us, I hear how exactly like a cat's 'meow' Orions "now" is. It speaks to us on deeper levels. It behooves us. It draws us. It drives us to McDonalds...

I wonder, if on some level, he is aware of this.

Or, it could be in my head, the association with Gurtie's evilness. Though, I've meant to confess to you, sorry, I begin to love her. ?? I hardly ever post anymore without her in my lap.

Hmm. Do cats and preschooler's have a private language? Is there a conspiracy underpaw?

I think I need a hug...

Onward

Whatever so troubled me yesterday was gone this morning. Cured by sleep, or coffee, music or nice emails, it is gone. Thanks!
I made grits for Orion, with cheese.

Ben is back today, with the whining, the complaining, the groaning, the snappy comebacks and verbal abuse. Awww, I missed that guy...

The mold for "Emily" failed two days ago. I knew we were pushing it. There's no backup. It's not practical to keep mulitple molds. The rubber won't survive long term and would eat up loads of space. Instead, we keep a master of each sculpture. Ideally, I replace a mold when it starts to show the least sign of stress, but once in a blue moon, one goes without warning, just a parade of special effects.
Today's Bennism: "Could be worse, you know. We could be ugly."

The end result was that several people who had ordered "Emily" got statues with individually hand-carved faces by yours truly, who has become quite adept with both the Dremmel and the file.

Tonight was a session for Pete's comic. That was almost like a break, because all that was required of me was mostly listening and commenting. I got to flex my fingers and s t r e t c h.

Now I write this, and eat oranges, wish good dreams to kids , stretch one more time, work on an outline for Lost and Found and paint. At night, music and oranges work better than coffee.

One more marathon day tomorrow, then things should get a bit easier. Yes, Lisa is working way too much, making her a dull girl indeed.

g'night

Indigo Wednesday

I've been really sad all day without knowing quite why. I have things to be sad about, as everyone does, but none of them are an exact fit.

What helps most is that how I spend the day is the same whether I'm happy or miserable.

What hurts most is that how I spend the day is the same whether I'm happy or miserable.

This may be less true another time, but for now I work, believing the answer is in there. And I do the things that must be done, because they must be done. Cats must be fed.

So, in that way, today was no different than yesterday, but mostly it was a strange day with Ben still away. A one-girl show with non-stop music and mostly non-stop art. Hyde has gone. I kept her under such control I feel nearly apologetic. Next time I'll let her make something.

Hive
Unified Theory
Pi (soundtrack)
Dvorak
Kronos Quartet
The Decemberists
Bad Religion
Zero 7

Sometimes music is better than coffee, which is nearly gone and somewhat cold, so back to it for me. I think, Chemical Brothers will do it.

g'night

Not for my readers, who are cool.

But for those who visit this site looking for gossip about someone completely not me: Go home little sheep.



Does anyone besides me miss Jerry Springer?

Harlequin Helix

Today is more like yesterday than yesterday and even longer.

Ben is sick, poor guy, so Pete subbed in the studio. Good job too.
I’d poured a casting mix into harlequin molds and gone back to peer at them twice already. Was it really that cold in here? Or was something wrong with the mix?
“Hmmm. Nothing’s happening,” I held my fingers over one, “—wait, there’s heat.”Pete said, “Then…something’s happening.” “Yup. Where there’s heat, there’s… happening,” I said. Immediately a sort of mental wormhole opened, back to the morgue and Dr. Bill, every winter night shift, saying, “Is it cold?”
We roll our eyes and recite, “oh yeah, it’s cold.”
To which Dr. Bill answers, as he’d answered every midnight for two months, “Then it’s dead! Becawze…( in the Baptist Revival voice he thought so funny) where they is ah-heat, they is ah-happenin’.” I could almost smell the bleach, and mint, and death.

As Neil Gaiman wrote Harlequin Valentine, he would phone and say, “Tell me more about the morgue.” Some of the stuff I told him made its way into the story. But there was more that didn't, and plenty I didn’t tell. Memories mostly blend or slide over one another, but my time in the morgue is clear and self contained. It’s its own world, with a spectrum that won't admit to yellow. Once in a while I take an odd step and slip headlong back into it. Today I did for a moment. But mostly it was yesterday, again.
It’s like what? Very good! You are correct. It’s like time travel.

We have officially closed submissions forTINY STORIES, the project . My sincere thanks to everyone who sent stories. You all deserve grand kudos. This was not an assignment for the faint-hearted. In mid January we’ll contact everyone who submitted and then list the names of those chosen. By then, Bob and I will have already begun to put the thing together. We’ll keep you posted.

Color Day, Monochrome Night

A long day of painting small sculptures, making notes, ordering supplies and listening to Ben's monologue to himself as he worked on the kinetic fortune teller. Today was drilling holes and attaching the pins that will slow the wheel to catch it on a particular fortune (determined, of course, either by fate or physics---up to you.) The trick isn't attaching the pins so much as creating the right conditions for the particular clicking sound I want. Supremely important, for such a wheel, at least for me. And...it's my wheel, for now.

Aubrey woke me at 5:30 for walking. We walked. Sheesh.

As for "Good Night and Good Luck": I won't attempt writing about this movie. What I will say is, see it, please. There are many reasons for seeing it and none for not.

Today's Ben-ism:

"Every moment of brilliance costs an hour of psychosis."

Lots of Chemical Brothers today, and some Porcupine Tree, Neutral Milk Hotel and a bit of, well, the Floyd.

Lots of Holiday sculptures are going out tomorrow. I'm getting up when I wake up.

G'night

Hands Spring says Ravyn, via paint fumes

This is a tiny part of the studio floor, where I dropped a tiny spring which, of course, bounced silently into a secret place where it could spend a possible eternity. Despite this obvious down side of such a studio floor, there are good points.
One being that the floor never looks dirty and that a drip of paint or whatnot is not a problem. The other is that one can do things like this should the urge strike (as occasionally, it does):



And here lies a tiny spring!!! Gee. This would be an amazing thing indeed if it were the spring I dropped...





Today it was light outside when I woke. I thought I'd somehow overslept, but then realized it was Sunday, so snuggled down into the covers again. Of course that was Gurtie's clue to start her morning campaign for food and attention, so there was nothing left but to get up early.
It was a day for working hard, well past very tired, even with much appreciated intermittent neck rubs that only seem to help when they hurt. I thought to ask Santa for a professional massage. After all, I've been good. The juggling of projects isn't likely to stop anytime soon. New ones seem to sneak aboard at least as quickly as others are completed. I'm getting better about stopping to stretch, and the Ben unit, who is off today, says he'll help install a barre on the back deck for me. That will help indeed. Ouch. and, did I mention, ouch?

We're heading out tonight to see "Good Night and Good Luck". When I'm busy, most movies have to wait for the DVD release, but I want to give this one my full attention.

Comfy

Aubrey woke me at 6am, to remind me I said I'd try morning walks with her. But then, before I knew it, it was actually morning. Forget that. The stars were still out. No way.

It was crisp and chill and we walked with long strides past houses that reflect 1950's visions of the future. Some evoke a sort of Jetsonlike charm, some old hollywood, most show a touch of a dated sort of elegance. A few now reflect current desert sensibilities, i.e., they hunch behind walls. I remarked that my favorite house doesn't have the look of 50's California. Aubrey replied, "Right, it has the look of 50's Florida. Gotta be some sort of geriatric wormhole." And then there's that one house from Tatooine.
It was a good walk, and when we got back our house was warm and cozy.

Then later, off to shop for her formal gown, which was not terribly hard, and had it's truly comedic moments.

Orion plays Sly Cooper, which has music that reminds me of Angelo Badalamenti, making me think of Ennio Morricone soundtracks and how he sometimes very effectively scored simple, childlike music for violent or shocking scenes. The music alone carries a false sense of security, so when contrasted with the visuals can be unsettling in a unique way. I like that quite a lot.
Contrast is good. In art and words as well as in roller coasters and fun houses. Just when you get really comfy, things get weird.

Several hours of work on the Ben/Lisa project. We will try to post some photos soon but seem to be in a standoff about who will actually stop drawing and do it.

Let's see, the Ben-Ism for today is: Right. And every time I laugh I die a little inside.

Orion is just beginning to understand that if he will let me work for awhile, then after I will give him my full attention. I'm going to do that for a bit, then get back to the studio.

I've picked and am eating the first orange from the tree by our front door. It is obscenely delicious.

I've finished the ratty portrait for Ravyn, who has recently experienced moments of true brilliance for which I am entirely grateful. The little statue is of Ravyn's mom and three granddaughters, in rat, of course. Something sweet and nice. Yes, I can do sweet.
Comfy? Good.

Rainy

I spoke with Bob Podrasky last night. We will be deciding in the next few days whether it's time to officially and finally close submissions for Tiny Stories - Call for Submissions. I believe we most likely will, so that work can begin on the project in early January. If you have something nearly finished, or have a sudden inspiration, the time to act would be now.

Today is cold and rainy. Not so cold as in other places, but cold enough that paints and casting materials behave differently and coffee and hot chocolate taste better. I’ve managed to put Hyde away for a bit. She quietly hyperventilates in the corner so I can make lovely things for people who ordered holiday gifts and later, go to Orion’s class party at Chucky Cheese. That’s no place for Hyde.
She is ever present now, but it becomes clear to me that, though my hands shake just a little when painting the tiniest detail, I’m most definitely the one in control. At least, for now. Last night my brain really wanted to play until late, late, late, so Pete took care of things this morning and I slept in. I got some good work done for Lost and Found in those wee hours. Now I’m listening to Chemical Brothers and Porcupine Tree and painting.

It’s a good day.

Hyde approaches. Sucking and Blowing defined

I don't want to frighten anyone, but it seems Hyde is beginning to get loud. Ben, studio partner and best bud, couldn't be happier.

I hear quotes of mine are finding themselves onto the web. I feel it somehow balances the universe to add some of Ben's to the mix. It's Karmic, sort of.
A few notable statements from today:

"Yeah? I'll tell you who likes Christians. Lions."

"You handed me two. I asked for a couple. Two is hardly a couple."

"Morals are definitely overrated."

Ah, Ben..........

Another common exchange, especially when work gets intense, goes like this:

"How'er we doing?"

"Well, we're either sucking or blowing."

Interestingly enough, Pete told me today that he heard (X-Play/G4) that sucking applies to a short-term assessment or to an immediate situation and that blowing refers to more long-term conditions.
You know? That feels oddly...right.

I finally got a photo that shows the eyes of The Children's Hour.

Eyes

And, here they are. If you missed the rest of him, he's here:
The Children's Hour

Press "X" to Jump

While I was miles away in winter, the very good Daddy took the Orion to the Tamale Festival, where he enjoyed some outdoor non-video game jumping. Apparently fearless in air as in water, he prepares to jump.

And, he's off! So, I suppose, am I.

And, with typical joyful abandon, he jumps, and jumps, and jumps. Yes, the desert has its good points.

Oh yes, Lorraine did indeed wear her pajamas to the airport and dropped me right at the door. As someone who has grown used to living in a vacation sort of place, who has been known to visit the grocery store in pj's and coat, and who is not surprised to run into 'speedo man' at the post office, I was non-plussed. She was actually cheerful and lovely and got coffee for us first.

I had a very long and busy day in the studio but very good. Then a meeting with Ben about projects for early next year, sending images and art out, answering emails.

Hyde, the name I call my creative drive, is making lots of noise. I try hard to quiet this by writing notes with quick sketches and promises to work them into the schedule. This may work, or may not. Sometimes you can resist scratching an itch. Sometimes you cannot. Sometimes you feel like a nut. Sometimes you are. In the long run, if no one gets hurt, what difference does it make if I step outside of Lisa for a little bit and become the lunatic some people kindly refer to as the visionary? It's mostly harmless as long as she stays in the studio. Yes, that would be the studio full of knives and razors and um, power tools of all sorts. It would be the Lisa who's family bet on when she'd clean her brush in her coffee, or sip mineral spirits. (They longer do this as they are banned from the studio when Hyde visits.)

I am very busy (and happily) painting "Luck's Dancer" and other gifts. I especially enjoy the thought that someone likes something I made enough to give it to someone they care about. That's very cool.

On Saturday afternoons I work on a very irreverent project with Ben. On Thursday nights I work with Pete on a comic project. On Friday mornings, I work on Lost and Found and other book projects. In between are meetings and correspondence and a big block of studio time, broken into smaller blocks of various sizes interwoven with everyday life. Somewhere in there I must fit some Hyde time in, otherwise, the noise will get louder until I do.

................sheesh

arrrrrgh. Ok Nora. Yes, Lisa was there too, eating cookies and Hershey's kisses all day...and signing some things too, but mostly eating evil chocolate things 

Snow and Signings

Yesterday was as snowy as I could have hoped. Just right, actually. The reading and signing went very well, but went on for much longer than anyone had expected. Still, Neil made lots of people very happy and I got to spend time with some nice people.

It has been a weekend of new insights and winter scenery, crisp air and new friends and cats each with unique personalities. And birds. It’s very hard not to notice the woodpeckers especially.

The sculpture was finally unpacked and discovered to be unharmed during its long trip. It now sits comfortably back in its nook where it belongs.

I will be leaving tomorrow somewhat changed, in the way that stepping outside of daily life changes us. I’ll be glad to see my family waiting for me back home in the desert and already begin to miss the ones here in this pristine winter.

snow 

Winter

I left the desert dressed in layers which mostly came off in the plane, because it was 75 degrees or so outside and at least 80 in the cabin. Three or so hours later it was 17 degrees outside and I started thinking about longitudes and the shape of the planet. I put the layers back on but after a very long walk through a warm airport with heavy bags, forgot about longitudes and weather patterns and just enjoyed the cold air on my face outside.
Kelli Kelli Bickman slideshow made a very nice dinner and the evening was fun and I'm tired but still sort of looking out the window once in a while, hoping for snow. It's dark and quiet and I will fall asleep happy for the change of scenery. Tomorrow is the signing and later I will unpack the sculpture and try to get a couple of photos up then.

G'night

Surer Steps

Today was more productive. Ravyn suggests we are indeed affected by these last days of the waning moon. Then, Thursday should be interesting.
I packed shipments and cleared the studio for a new wave of work tomorrow. I don't think there is a 'cure' for obsessive interludes. Possibly the answer lies in learning to make the most of them. Oddly, I think I'm getting better at it. Certainly at juggling short-term and long-term projects. That one can get tricky. For me, it mostly involves chopping the longer projects up into bits, and fitting those between the daily stuff. Sounds easy, but it takes more disicipline than I could have imagined some years ago.
Orion has switched the language for Ratchett and Clank to Spanish. For some reason, this seems to delight him. From here, it sounds a little like Dora the Eplorer in some twisted universe. Or something like that. Not anything at all like time travel.
I spoke to Neil today, who is aware that desert weather is worlds away from the cold I'll be traveling to and suggested I wear and bring many layers of clothing. Good advice. I shall. He referred to the cold in the spirit of the Aussie "three dog night" as a "seven cat night." I suggested that I sew the seven cats together to make one good cat. I like the idea in theory, but in reality, possibly would result in a loud, uncomfortable sort of quilt. I'll stick with layers. Possibly I'll luck out and one of the seven will take up Gurtie's spot on my head. Either way, I vote for snow.

Bob Podrasky has sent me the first batch of Tiny Stories to read. I can't tell you how very cool it is to be reading these and having various images start to take shape. I'll keep you posted as we go along.

The new Worlds of Wonder Special 15 year anniversary catalog is out. It's really beautiful and if you enjoy science fiction, horror and fantasy art then you might think about ordering one. It's more like a coffee table book than a catalog.Worlds of Wonder: Store

Day is done. I'm thinking, a bit of TV and some chocolate ice cream right out of the carton. I had a salad for dinner, so this ice cream will help maintain balance in the universe. It could possibly save us all...

g'night

Over my own feet

Yesterday was a day for tripping myself up. I put way too much time and energy into doing things that contributed nothing at all to my current schedule, which is full and somewhat pressing.
I not only strayed from my goals, but meandered obsessively. For example, I impulsively decided to do something about that closet door in the hall that has been popping open for months. Doing something included reorganizing the entire closet, which is packed to bursting (hence the perpetual failing of the latch) with games of all sorts and posters mostly of the comics, fantasy, horror, science fiction variety.
It got worse from there, involving things like miles of wire and cable, dust bunnies of the worst sort and so on until seven oclock felt like midnight, I had a terrible headache and a resistable but nagging urge to kick at the cat. Notacceptable.
If I were going to misuse time, I'd have been much better off reading, or playing games with Orion, or losing myself in some odd bit of creating art, even if it had nothing to do with deadlines or orders.
Anyway, I went to sleep exhausted and frustrated and with a headache. I woke with the headache, but not so tired and willing to let yesterday go and get on with today, eventually.

Is it the moon? Or some inner device that's off? Don't know. I need a bit of a break, I think. My brain needs a brake, I'm sure. Possibly it's that I've spent so much time making resin pieces that I haven't had any time to get this stuff out. Finding the balance, as many of you are aware, is the trick.

On to it. Sorry about the lack of photos. Will get to them. Soon. I'm packing up the kinetic piece to ship to the Neil so I can reinstall it when I get there. Ravyn is working on posting a video that Aubrey made of the thing in motion.

It's Monday, right?

Workaday

I awoke to quiet. Orion had snuggled in at some point and was pressed against my back, Gurtie was draped over my head like an ugly (but very warm) hat. Pete was sleeping peacefully and it felt cold enough to light the fireplace. One of those moments to lie quietly and appreciate...
Then of course the phone rang. Hardly five minutes later, Aubrey is dancing in the kitchen -- and singing "Ohhh, I wish for something sweeeet and fat freeeeee!" The computer is up, Orion has started a video game, Ben is on his way over and I'm making coffee, going over the list for today and checking messages all at the same time.
Well, apparently it's time to get to work. The studio will be like a beehive today. I will be a bee. No. I won't be a bee. Sheesh. I need coffee.
Hope you guys have a great day. Be back later with photos of what SlaughterHouse does on Saturdays.

Where's My Generation?

One of my favorite Far Side drawings features a city street in the midst of a huge emergency--possibly an alien invasion, I can't remember, but certainly something just that intense. In the midst of widespread panic and confusion a dog looks out a car window at another dog on the street. Both contentedly wag their tails in recognition and approval.
There's that sort of instant recognition and attraction between kids. Orion ignores babies now, and mostly any human taller than four feet, but any kid in his range wears the invisible badge of membership. "You're in the club, " it says, "and you know what I know."
The membership gets more complex by degrees, with age. The acknowledgements become more subtle. But still, teens still carry unspoken agreements that vary upon the situation. At school, they're divided into their own social groups, but outside, there's still a hint of "us" (all teens) vs "them" (all adults and all sprats). Same with twenty -somethings. Though by then, certain value systems, whether individual or imposed by fad, fashion, MTV or peers, kick in, instantly ranking and subdividing within the age group.
But by the thirties, the age identity is virtually gone. For one thing, it's awfully hard to tell who is when. We adults can find comrades via other criteria; economic, education, interests. We can be somewhat general, as in the loose bonding with attendees at a concert, a bit more specific e.g. attending genre conventions, or we can send out very specific signals. For example, I could show up in a shirt that proclaims "Silk for Calde!" Chances are, very few would respond. However, those few connections would be instantly powerful possibly because the 'club' would be so exclusive.
Still, this isn't the same as connecting with people purely by birthdate. We who are born in or near the same year have some pretty basic things in common. Of course there are exceptions where geographies and cultures separate us. But, within those parameters, there are things shared only with people our own ages. I have friends in their twenties, and in their sixties, and all ages between, but sometimes it just feels good to converse with someone my age, who grew up on the same toys, cartoons and sit cons, wore the same sort of clothes, saw the same movies and now, confront the same sorts of issues that only people our ages, and practically everyone our ages, do. I enjoy comparing notes with others who may have smoked weed at a Deep Purple concert, or saw Star Wars when it was brand new. Those conversations are fun and, heh, sort of like time travel. ( got you again, with the time travel...)
Interesting to think about changes in how we identify ourselves with others. Funny, the stuff you can learn from watching wee ones.

***
To Carl V: Obviously I'm re-visiting the Long Sun series. This time I'm paying attention. The thing that is most clear in every page is Gene's fascination with and appreciation of languages.

***
Apparently, I'm going to be at the Neil signing at DreamHaven Books, Comics and Art on Dec 3. If you're going to that one, I'd love to meet and chat with you.

***
And this, if you haven't seen it, regarding congrats to Harlan Ellison, who will be Grand Master for Nebula Awards® Weekend 2006


I'm off to the studio, while Orion hones his skills as Ratchett (with Clank, of course)...


G'night

Possibly I'm breathing some paint fumes, but I've been thinking as I paint. A lot. So will stop for a bit to write a few things down. 

Possibly I'm having way too much fun painting these.  

The Prodigal Returns

Inspiration did finally come, unexpectedly at a weird moment when I was completely absorbed in sort of obsessively following and erasing a trail of footprints that lead from the front door to the kids’ bedrooms at one end of the house.
In other words, it came best described in the immortal words of Dr. Seuss:

It came without ribbons.
It came without tags.
It came without packages, boxes or bags…

It seemed to come out of nowhere. Out of thin air…

But I know, and you know, and we know it didn’t. It came from some previously stored information in my brain connecting to some other previously stored information and recombining into not only the parts for a visionary work, but the thread that would tie the parts together into something much bigger than its own space. Likely, the thoughts found themselves because, as I cleaned the footprints, I stopped directing my brain long enough to let them.

My experiences don’t lend themselves to belief in the muse, in the divine, in the gift. Why that is doesn’t matter, though if someone asked I could tell them. I could just as easily attribute inspiration to the muse, the divine, some matter of grace, the alignment of the planets or last nights fortune cookie.
What difference would it make?

None, as far as I’m concerned. The process is a wonder, whether we choose to define it in terms of science or magic. What I do know is that inspiration leaves for many reasons, among them fatigue, sadness, illness, distraction, happiness, pettiness, conflict, chocolate, people talking during movies, and uncomfortable freaking shoes.

In other words, in my experience, inspiration can be spooked. Is the artistic vision so fragile, like moments of romance, easily foiled by the most insignificant intrusion?

Perhaps that doesn't matter either. What does matter, to me, is that it seems to return exactly when we need it most. Because, really, we nearly always need it most.

G'night

Uninspirational

I've had my coffee. Sleep too. Not quite enough, as per usual, but I've done fine on less. So where does a person who is said to inspire others get her inspiration? Sometimes it is as elusive as the Willow the Wisp, and just as naughty. It's 10 a.m. The kids have been delivered to school and here I am with a long list of things I'm uninspired to do. I need rain. I need wind. Either would do. Anything other than this painted on ceiling that only someone who has lived under it could describe.

I can work. Of course I can work. I can always work. I'm annoying that way. What I can't do is cower under the covers, Gene Wolfe or no Gene Wolfe, though reading is partly responsible for the lack of sleep.

Music? Maybe.

This happens sometimes. It's the downside of art as a day job. The disipline of working on committments, projects, and orders is what keeps most artists from being, well, artists. Ideas I've got. Want ideas? I've got notebooks full of ideas. Stories, paintings, kinetic works. I've got em. Everybody has ideas. It's the dogged determination it takes to build them, to stick with a project that may or may not pay off for months, to edit one more time, to squeeze a moment of inspired creativity between loading the dishwasher and ordering supplies.

Hmmm. Here's what I'll do. I'll put on something. Classical. Prokofiev. No. Dvorak. And I'll tackle that list. I'll let you know where it goes...

That future, This now.

My boyfriend and I, back in high school, used to ride our bikes down to the canal and lie on the grass while the stars came out. We’d talk about space and UFO’s and what we thought the year 2000 would bring. Back then, when my body and mind were fifteen, the year 2000 was mythically distant, more of an “if” than a “when.” It would likely never come. After all, we’d NEVER be forty! And, we’d always be good friends…
We lost track of each other, of course. I remembered those conversations, the things we thought we’d figured out, and I looked him up in 1990. I learned that my long-haired British born boyfriend had joined the U.S. army, served abroad, come home with a bad leg, a devoted Asian wife and a psychotic paranoia. He didn’t remember the boy I knew at all.
But for me, all those starry nights stayed on and became part of who I would be, decades later. Back then, we were certain that we’d be scooting about in hover cars, Jetsons-style, have robots sweeping our floors, laboratories on Mars and amusement parks on the moon. We thought people would live to be two hundred and the forty we’d never reach would be, well, young.
Well, we nearly have robots sweeping our floors. My vacuum cleaner is actually pretty damned smart.

We didn’t anticipate personal computers in millions of homes, an internet that allows instant conversations between persons continents apart, the mapping of the human genome, AIDS, cars with navigation systems, polymerase chain reaction, video gaming, blue Gatorade or turning forty.

The things that we didn’t expect far outnumber anything we anticipated, though a vital space program would sure be appreciated. I really don’t enjoy telling Orion that spaceships aren’t real.

For years I operated on the premise of my artistic dreams. Sometimes to the demise of my health, sometimes to the demise of my finances, and sometimes, to the degree that I’ve been called a visionary. I followed that vision in everything I did, sometimes not even seeing the day I was moving through. My life and my art seemed two separate entities. Eventually I looked around, noticed what time it was, and realized that I most likely wasn’t going to complete the script I’d written for my life. It was quite a shock, actually, and knocked me about for several months. I wondered how I’d failed, how I’d failed to see that I was failing, and how the hell did it get to be 2000?

It was very depressing. I was very depressed. I was so disappointed that I didn’t want to create any more. I thought about lying on cool grass under the stars and dreaming about the futures that never came, and my own, that had arrived seemingly unannounced. I sort of shut down. I spent a lot of time underwater, and sitting quietly, and being instead of doing. I read. I walked. Sometimes I panicked. Sometimes I cried. Mostly I laughed at what a fool I was. Finally, I got a good view of the now that is nothing that I’d expected and is everything I did not.

I’ve decided that it’s probably a good idea to not worry terribly about trying to control what will or won’t happen. I’ve decided that it’s also probably a good idea to keep doing what I’m doing and watch to see what does happen. I’m thinking that things will be a lot more interesting from here on out. Time will tell. It always does, dammit. Besides, I like living without the script. It takes a certain talent to do improvisation well, don't you think?

Is it Sunday night already? Well, time for tucking the Orion unit in, some hot chocolate and some time well spent reading a bit of Gene Wolfe.

Tonight's image was inspired by one of my favorite SpongeBob episodes...

Thanks for checking in.
G'night

Luck's Dancer

The short story is this: Neil Gaiman commissioned me to make a sculpture to fit a niche in his stairway wall. I did. Last year, in a somewhat slapstick fashion, (go here for his version:) he broke it. He sent it to me to be repaired and I looked at it for a long time and decided to make some changes. I’d just read his draft of Anansi Boys, and was under the influence of a different color scheme..muse?

When I was finished, the sculpture looked more like this:


The longer story of the ‘reconstruction’ and more photos are in my journal archives, beginning here: Angel's new clothes Lots of people seemed to fall in love with the little yellow dancing jester, whom the frog was forever trying to snare with his umbrella and whom we began to call "Luck's Dancer."

I thought I'd like to have a casting of the little Luck's Dancer for myself and that others might too. And then, my friend Laura asked me out of the blue to make one for her. I considered sculpting another dancer that would be simpler to mold and cast, but, being me, I decided that: #1 Neil’s fans (and mine) would most likely rather have an actual casting from the original . And #2 I, being even more me, couldn’t pass up the challenge of molding such a complex figure (which, by the way, was not harmed in the very least, and is restored back to his original place in the universe of torturing the frog, looking even more delicious than before. )


It's the most difficult single-piece mold Ben and I have ever made. We began with a long session of sitting and talking about it, turning the delicate figure (the original is made of paper clay, which is basically blended paper mache) this way and that to imagine its mass as negative space. And, with that, imagining how liquid would flow into it and where air might be trapped, which is exactly what we had to avoid. This is part of the science of the whole business, and something we enjoy quite a lot, though it can leave one with a headache. That done, we decided the best approach would be to create channels that connect pieces to the surface (so air could escape) and to connect dead ends to other spaces. As you may imagine, air inside molds is a thing we try very hard to avoid, as it wreaks all sorts of havoc in castings. And we can't have havoc, as the SlaughterHouse motto says, "Nothin' can go wrong now!"



Opened up, the rubber mold looks like this:



The figure comes out of the mold looking sort of like this, with all the sprues attached.



I cut those off and smooth everything up and with lots of layers of paint, transform the little figure into something that feels real to me. The molding and the cleaning up are sort of the ‘day job’. It’s the painting that's fun and creative, where each figure takes on its own personality. In this case "he" as this little guy is most definitely a boy.




If you like "Luck's Dancer" and are feeling adventurous you can choose SURPRISE ME and get a truly unique treatment. Each will be a one of a kind finish. Fun for you, fun for me.

Ravyn has wonderfully created Holiday Gifts for "Luck's Dancer" and a few other pieces we especially picked for gift giving.

This is a good step for Slaughterhouse. Thanks for looking and hope you have fun. Oh, and Happy Winter Season from Lisa, Ben and the SlaughterHouse Rats...

OH! While I have your attention---we still have a few more spaces left for TINY STORIES, the project. Bob Podrasky is in the editing ( fagblog: Reading Tiny Stories )phase .

Wednesday morning

The nicest thing about winter in the desert is that it's not summer. Granted, swimming at midnight is nice, but believe it or not, a cloudless blue sky can start to feel like a ceiling after a while, and oppressive. I feel a bit more human when I wake chilly and put on my robe and slippers.
I can't remember the last time I journaled in the morning. The skies are full of moving clouds, there's a chill in the air and I have coffee. Ahhhhh. Gurtie is chasing some unfortunate cricket in the hall. Its only hope of escape lies in the fact that her claws have no purchase on the tiles so she overshoots and skitters into the wall.
She's just peered around the corner at me with a bit of a reproachful look, as though she hears me. She can be very creepy that way. Very creepy.
Ben will be here soon. It's a very busy studio day. We'll be like largish evil elves working at our benches, trading odd ideas that sometimes we write down. By four-thirty it will be night---another winter thing in the desert, and we will still be working away, so that it feels we've been there for days. It's like....time travel. Well, sort of.

I wish you all a very good Wednesday. Tomorrow is Mr. Gaiman's birthday. Send him your good thoughts. He was once a baby. So was I. So were you. That's a little like time travel too. Well, sort of.

Slight Right

Yesterday was a sort of accidental free day. I nearly called it a 'lost' day, but that isn't right, because it actually wasn't lost at all. It started with a sort of work hangover---one of those times when intense work/late nights or both decide to charge their toll all at once. So I woke late and groggy and shuffled through the den where the kids were eating leftover Chinese takeout and Halloween candy for breakfast, into the kitchen where the coffee was unmade. Aubrey had stayed home with the same cold she'd missed school for on Wednesday and was miserable. There was no point in taking Orion to daycare so late. He'd get there just in time for nap. He stood in front of the television, seeming to mimic a crazed angler reeling in the tie-breaking bass, but actually destroying evil robots.
Pete left to rig some show, America (the band, 70's) or something like that. Finally, Orion showed some interest in toys in his room, and ate enough of an apple to alieve my guilt. Aubrey and I put on Signs, one of those movies we watch when we're sick. Comfort movie. We watched in silence, occasionally passing the plastic candy bucket, inserting ridiculous and irreverent dialog into familiar scenes.
So, not a lost day, but a non-linear one in that it had nothing at all to do with 'the plan' or 'the list' or even the most vague expectations.
The golden thing is, I think I'm learning when to let one go. It's not really a good idea to try to fit a left-brain plan into a right-brain day. It's a waste of time. I've tried it. I only end up standing in my own way. Go right-brain.

Today was different. Up early, all day in the studio. Lots of focus. In the middle of working on one project a piece of another found its way into a waiting gap. I'm telling myself that could have happened mostly because I hopped off the wheel yesterday, aired out the gray matter. It seems to be a pattern.

So, in that spirit, anonymous, I shall let Karma take care of the treat bowl.

And now, I'll make some spaghetti.

g'night

In Other News...

Orion's first Trick or Treat went swimmingly, with him delighted and delightful at every door, coming away with tons of loot and forgoing the spiderman mask and becoming Spider Orion about haflway through the thing.

Back at the ranch, we discovered our honor systen ( a bowl of candy with a Happy Halloween sign) which worked so well before had failed miserably this time. It appears one Trick or Treater took the whole bowl of candy, including the bowl. I knew those little packs of Whoppers would be too much for our neighbors. Orion has discovered Rayman. Time limits are imperative. I must be vigilant. I left the spatula in the den. I'll need it to pry his fingers from the controls. I must show him there are other things to do, like books and bathtime and running around. But, I must admit it's really interesting to see how fast a little one can get really good at this stuff. sheesh.


Ravyn and I are working very hard to get the holiday season gift page up. This is the first year I've put together something like this and I'm very pleased to be able to. I think I'm going to show you some things you'll love giving, or getting. That's the idea, anyway.

Ben is back!!! Yay! Soon we'll be back at it again, making more sculptures that do things...

And, I've heard from new dad Mr. Podrasky on Tiny Stories. He is moving toward the time when he shall read and sort and choose stories to send to me. I'd better get to work. So little time, so many things to make.

And for the next few days, I'm sort of away, working very hard on "Lost and Found", which was "Lost and Found" then wasn't, but was going to be something else, but is now "Lost and Found" again. Odd, that.

G'night