Halloween beyond Elm Street

When I first came to live in the desert, I couldn't find
the seasons. I grew deeply depressed. As any human being, I needed the changes, the sense of reset and renewal. The changes were there, but I had to let go of my expectations and see them as they are. Seasons are very different in the desert. Not so much the fall of amber and russet leaves. It's more subtle, visually, so I didn't see the change.
I do now. It's in the air, and the birds. It's in the habits of the animals.

What affects me most powerfully is a change in the light. As an artist, light is something I'm very conscious of. Light determines the color of an object, how close or distant it seems. It can make something beautiful look frightening, or vice versa.

One rarely thinks of the desert as being a good setting for Halloween stories. We tend to want the images we've grown familiar with thanks to traditional stories and mostly, movies and television.
But Halloween stories can happen anywhere.

Let me tell you, the desert can be a very spooky place, especially when October arrives and the light changes.
So I challenge you. Let go of the Elm Streets with deep front porches and leaf strewn sidewalks. Think of a Halloween story that starts somewhere else.
Like a busy street in the heart of a city or a quiet desert house nestled against the mountains.
Let it start with a subtle change in light, a mild uneasiness. Some of the best stories written are set in ordinary places, where ordinary people have to come to grips with finding that the beliefs they held true, aren't.

I'd like to hear what you think about unlikely settings for scary stories.



Halloween Store

October One

It's October. The weather changed, quite suddenly, two days ago. We wondered if it will last, if the desert is taunting us, planning another wave of brutal heat. We didn't wonder long, because the sky's been full of birds, flying in groups. Some are high above, just dots in the sky, some low, so we can hear their voices and wings.
The crows are restless. They're not going anywhere. But they know change. The light is different.
We are different.

It's October. And all that goes with.

Poppets Go Rogue

Poppets do love adventures. We all know that. And I've made so many Poppets, I'm like the old woman in the shoe.

Ok. I'm not old. But I've created thousands of Poppets.

Thousands.

And, they're out there. In the World. Having Adventures.

Ravyn sent me a link to this video of Rogue. Poppets show up at about 3:08. Don't skip though--watch the video--it's well done. Hmm. I'm thinking of collaboration... What do you think?
Animation? Ideas? Volunteers?

Poppets love to dance, for sure.

So many adventures.

I think I'll get some sleep. Have a good breakfast and a swim. So much to do.

We have a new Landing Page It's pretty simple, but takes you to all the important spots. Thanks Ravyn and Kevin.

and The Halloween Sale starts Oct 1st.

g'night

Which End? The What What?

It's 10:45. I started working today at 7:30 a.m. I'm having a glass of wine now. It's a good glass of wine, but I'm still having it at home, and I'm still working. What a loser.

I knew there would be days like this. I didn't know there would be years like this. Is the recession going away or getting worse? One out of every eight mortgages is in foreclosure. Is this true? The ice caps are melting. California has no freaking snow pack. Again. Snow pack, btw, is where we get our water.

I mentioned the commercial that scared Orion. I found it online. Look at this. This is the commercial that assaulted Orion (7) in the middle of the afternoon while watching SpongeBob SquarePants on Cartoon Network. I wrote them a scathing email, but I don't expect an answer.
What the hell? Is this appropriate for a 7-year-old? Shouldn't I be able to trust that he can safely watch afternoon cartoons without seeing something that will give him nightmares for a week? I'm totally pissed off.

I'm an artist on this tiny pellicle of earth, trying to make some sense out of things that just don't. I do my best. I recycle. I'm not wasteful. Evey time I leave my house or watch the news I feel bombarded with excess and stupidity.

There are over 100 golf courses in this desert. Right. With grass. Thirsty, thirsty grass.

I remember my parents talking late into the night, quietly sitting together at our dinner table with drinks or coffee. They were angry too, and afraid, I would imagine. They talked about the recession of the 70's. Before that, the Cuban Missile Crisis. Very scary human stuff. I was oblivious, mostly, thanks to the insulation of being a kid in the seventies. It was the end of the world then too.

So, the end is nigh. Of course it is. What kind of arrogance would make anyone think humanity would last forever? Five hundred years from now the end will be nigh. Next week too.
The end is always nigh. The end was always nigh.

So, screw it. Forget it. I didn't make this mess. I just live here. Tonight I'm going to sleep. Tomorrow I'll look for beauty in the moments of the day.

It's the best this silly human can do. Honestly, between you and me, I have Poppets to thank for that.
No kidding.

Poppets Are Always ...Watching.

So... Have you picked out your costume yet?
Some of the Poppets were, um, wondering.

Poppets do love Halloween.
For sure.

Lights, Literacy and Little things

Finally Autumn's Child has her lights. She seems more real to me now than ever. She seems like a child, stretching her reach to its limits, she seems to have been doing so since before time. I'm pleased.

In the September issue of Wired is an article by Clive Thomson about the effects of the internet on literacy. It's been thought for years now that literacy was being eaten alive by the net. Certainly language is affected by the 'new' medium. But language is a living thing, and prone to change with the times, not always for the better. Thomson's article argues that now that students are writing for an audience, writing skills are actually improved overall. There does seem to be some peer pressure motivation at work here. Despite the dribble and fluff of myspace, twitter and the like, students are at least writing more. Does practice make perfect?


I don't know. I went online to learn more. Interestingly, Thomson's article came up first in my search results.
There seems to be a fair amount of interest in the subject. I'll be watching. I'm interested to hear what you think.


This evening Orion accidently saw a preview on television for some upcoming Halloween programming. Dammit. It had clips featuring Chucky and the clown face from Saw. It was brief, but enough that he said it freaked him out a bit. So after reading I promised to stay until he fell asleep.
I put on a Samauri Jack DVD quietly for some familiar background noise and read with my booklight. After about ten minutes I felt him jump. He opened his eyes and told me he felt as though he fell. He was smiling and a little embarrassed. I explained that this is something everyone does, and how it's a thing that happens when our brains tell our muscles they can relax. Something that everyone does. Not children, but everyone. It was another of those reminders that he's not just my child, he's a person, an individual, subject to the same life curriculum as the rest of us humans. It's a curriculum I can't insulate him from. I know this. I've already watched my other children cross boundaries into their own spaces. And I've known since he discovered the alphabet that he was well on his way. It makes me a little sad. Of course it does. Because it's evidence, proof even, that everything changes and that we can hold onto nothing. But it was a beautiful moment, his smile, his realization that he'd straddled the boundary between asleep and awake. I feel extremely fortunate to have been there to see it.

g'night

Logan's second run, working despite ghosts

She wondered if the rain would start before the boat arrived. The sun hid itself hours ago.

The blackbirds didn't offer a word.

Like old southern families, blackbirds keep their secrets.

She sighed.

Yesterday was Logan's 2nd birthday. Aubrey, Orion and I spent the day with him and other people who love him too. There was amazing cake. Alison made it.

Other stuff happened too, but I'm too tired for talking about it. Besides, I haven't even begun to sort it out yet. I worked on the very-large-even-larger-than-me sculpture. I was very good and took photos. And I finished two very small paintings. The photo above is of one of them.

Time for swimming. Orion is already testing the water. Not much longer, and it will be too cold for comfort. Then it will be time for walking.

I need chocolate.

I wish you a good Monday. Not too bright, not too blue.

g'night

are we there yet?

Have we made it to October?


not quite. But September isn't so bad. There are little signs of Autumn's coming.

Thanks for all your well-spoken ideas about the end of books.
Yikes! Even the phrase makes me shudder.

We'll find a way to evolve along with the medium. Hopefully we'll have some time. Not sure we'll have generations. But then, things change in unexpected ways. We might discover another way to make 'paper.' We expected flying cars and got the pc. We expected walking, talking robots and got the human genome project.
Let's take some good advice from our predecessors, e.g. Ray Bradbury, and wait and see what happens next. It's a pretty good show, sometimes.


Carl made a good point on the book post, about taking photos in progress of the new "larger than me" piece. I'm just getting started on the armature, so took some photos. I'll try. (That's the best I can do right now) to get some photos up of the progress and some notes on the process.

Tomorrow is for Logan's birthday, but on Sunday I'll be building the frame. Right. I'll go get the tripod now.

g'night

Rabbit Relativity

Some

days

crawl.


A

single

moment

is

eternal.




Years fly by. Decades Lost. Eons forgotten.
A distant memory is
clear as yesterday.

Tomorrow is Wednesday. Don't forget to set your alarm.


g'night

everything changes

This weekend MimiKo is visiting. Today she swam with Orion and played DDR and patiently watched Full Frontal Fashion while I plugged away at writing that was absolutely and unquestionably due t o d a y.

I've begun the second painting for the art show, and the armature for a sculpture that is taller than myself.
I like working on art that's larger than me. A lot.

I rested and read yesterday. One of the few magazines I read from cover to cover is Wired. Aside from the articles, it's filled with little bits that the geek in me enjoys. There were a couple of articles on subjects I've wanted to mention here. Both addressed the move away from paper. The first was a article advocating the end of cash for transactions. Obviously, cash---both paper and coins---is expensive to create and to maintain, not to mention dirty, clumsy and arcane. One of the more interesting points was the possibility of a system for trading goods and services---barter--using technology for transfers. The element that wasn't mentioned in the least was the question of security.
Not that a lot of people hide wads of bills in their mattresses(or that this practice is secure in any way), but a global system for 'flash' exchange via cell phones would be even more vulnerable than the electronic systems we use now, wouldn't you think? The other thing that occurs to me is, when paper money is no longer attached to a value, what will happen to it? Will we be able to make stuff out of it? Will it become eBay fodder?

That was one bit to think about. But the other article is one that I think about on a regular basis. It was about publishing, and books.
The fact is--and we all know it--that books are going away. Maybe not today, but they will be gone. I get it. I accept it. Books will become collectors objects. Reading will not go away. Publishing and readers will evolve. I see the benefits of not printing books on paper, just as I see the benefit of losing paper money.
But I don't love paper money.
And I love books.

One of the writings I worked on today begins with, "Growing up, there were always books around us, lined up on shelves, with broad ones in stacks. None of them were dusty. We were readers."

But as books go away, so will the people who love them. Children will start out with electronic books.
The smell of the bindings and the crispness of the pages will fade just like home churned ice cream, horse carriages, jesters and parchment scrolls. They will be meaningless to those who didn't live with them.

All that said. Does the idea of the end of paper books affect your reading?

g'night

survivor inspiration?

Tonight I am amazed at my own tenacity.


On Monday I became suddenly and violently ill. Thought it was food poisoning.
Oh, the fun of it.

I won't dwell on details, but...it was very bad.

I slept all of Tuesday.

On Wednesday Orion became ill. I took him directly to urgent care. With quick meds, his was much shorter, but he is seven and sixty five pounds, and well, there you are. Upon our return from the doctor, I learned Spencer had taken ill as well.
(As of now, no one else I know has. though I was told by the school that many have.)

Now Orion is sleeping. He's much better, but not completely, and all our days and nights are upside down from it.

Everyone is mostly better. Yesterday and today were spent cleaning and disinfecting EVERYTHING, 10% bleach means 'die you little fuckers!'
Soups and juices and Gatoraide. No one is much interested in food yet.

It was so difficult, these last few days, trying to care for others, take care of things when still feeling weak and tired. Everything seemed an act of sheer stubborn will. Like animating a puppet with mind-power. A stiff one, made of lead.

But inspiration comes when it will, as I've known it to do these years. I find myself excited and happy tonight, looking forward to tomorrow, to painting. It's Saturday, so being off schedule won't matter terribly.

Possibly I'm grateful to have survived. Possibly inspiration is a normal result of recovery.

At any rate, while sitting with Orion, when, yesterday? I looked through the images posted on Poppets On Tour. Some of you have been having a great deal of fun with Poppets.

These are a few that snagged my attention. There are many, many good photos up there, some thought-provoking, some that cracked me up.I won't try to force Blogger to line up titles with the photos, but the author and title should appear when you run your mouse over them.

Another September 11 has come and gone. I remembered, then went on. The world is a different place entirely. Sometimes I feel not much a part of it and other times I know I'm not.

Tomorrow I'm going back to work, where I belong.

a finish and a gift

Today I finished a painting I've been working on for weeks. That felt good. I stood back and crossed my arms and said, "Ok, I'm calling it."

I didn't look at the clock.

It's for the World Fantasy Convention cover. I took photos. I look forward to telling you about how it came to be and showing you the details.

Yesterday while driving, I saw a man watering his flower garden. He looked to be at least 80. He was dressed only in a pair of pale blue dolphin shorts. He was bald and bent and very thin. I could see the knobs of his spine. He had a face of peace and fullness. He must've noticed that I slowed, because he glanced up at me.

His eyes were full of stories. I broke into the grin of a child. I couldn't help myself.

He was beautiful.

g'night

Stumbling into the One Thing, for now

Yesterday was devoted almost entirely to finishing a painting.

I'm still under the weather, physically and mentally. I tell myself it's life, it's physiological, it's biology, it's my turn to feel lousy.

But there were times yesterday while working that I wouldn't have traded places with anyone.

It's the 'one thing' we've talked about on this blog.

So. At least there's that. It's an anchor, a post to hold onto during the storm. We all have them, trick is sometimes knowing what they are and how to find them. Everything else changes, which is a very good thing.

***

I put photos of a couple of new pieces above, for those of you who don't see the sidebar. Aubrey is photographing work that's been waiting, and getting it up into both the etsy and ebay shops, and I'm going back into full right-brain mode and painting, to give the rest time to fix itself.

---and breathing. That too. I keep hoping that eventually I'll figure this stuff out. In the meantime, I guess you get to stumble along with me. I'm lucky to have you along, for sure.

Have a good Saturday. If I make any discoveries, you'll be the first to know.

It is what it is.

"water plants" was the first item on my list for today.

I got to that one about ten minutes ago.

Today was a bad day. Not a terrible day, not a disastrous day, but an unhappy, bad day the kind of which beats the spirit right out of a person.

I'm still happy to have lived it, don't get me wrong on that. There were moments when I wanted to disappear. But I know I can't do that. That would be stupid.

There were other moments when my mantra worked.

I can have peace in this moment.

I'm, hmm, preparing to try meditation. I have no idea what I'm doing. It's like trying to learn to surf by reading a book. I never really put much stock into it. It always seemed too close to twirling. But then, there's plenty of good evidence that controlled breathing works, including personal experience. So maybe what I'm trying is more like breathing.

Anyway. there were moments. Finally I think I'm tired enough to sleep instead of lying there and thinking over all the things I did wrong, today and every other day I can pull from memory.

If not, I'll try breathing. I'm thinking it's a matter of discipline and practice.

We'll see.

Fire season is upon us early, and more.

It would be my style to write "California is burning, again."


Because it is again. It's still a couple of weeks until fire season.

Fires aren't uncommon here, as hurricanes aren't uncommon in Charleston.

Both can be devastating.


Again, reminds us of regularly, which leads to normal, with leads to ordinary.

There's nothing ordinary about disasters. Right now there are eight fires burning in the state. The closest to us is the fire in San Bernardino.



These are devastating, huge fires that will go on for weeks. Here, I watch the sky. It's crazy hot and oppressive and the usually crisp dry air of the desert is heavy.

I worked all day in the studio. In the evening, we sat outside and watched a surfing documentary and the odd-colored sky. I made notes for projects and took a few photos because the light outside was so strange. I'm still playing with the image above-- thought you might like it.


The patio television sits on a salvaged bubble gum machine. I plan to gut the thing and turn it into a bubble gum machine that looks and sounds and runs like I made it.

I don't know when. I've had it for four years. It doesn't even have a place in line yet. That used to bug me to no end, but not anymore. I'll get to it when I need to. Everything's eventual, as Mr. King teaches us.


I wish you well. I hope for everyone affected by the fires, especially the firefighters and their familes. This is really serious stuff.

And, weird enough, there's a hurricane in Baja California currently.

If this isn't the setting for a story for someone, I don't know what would be. I'm going to call Larry Niven. Not for the sake of stories, but to see if he's okay.


g'night

Summer is Over

We had a productive and creative weekend. Then today was the

first day of second grade for Orion. I took this photo in the car. The morning light performed great tricks for us, for only just moments.

We talked about how we moved forward in the car only a few yards, yet in our little Element, tooling along in space (pretend the planet isn't there) we moved much farther.

How much farther?

I'm geeky enough to wonder about it, but not enough to research it at the moment. In fact, I'm tired enough to mostly sit here and stare at the screen between sentences, while my glass of milk waits patiently. My glass of milk is moving too. I wonder how far, in the last five minutes?

This is how my brain behaves when it is very tired. The non-summer routine will establish itself in a week or so. For now though, well, you know. I've gotta say, I'm happy to be getting back to work. It's horribly hot and even humid even at this hour, but another summer is over and we are alive.

before I go---wanted to let you know that our "Strange Roads" chapbook is nominated for the World Fantasy Convention 'Best Collection' and Peter's Uncle Chaim and Aunt Rifke and the Angel (one of the chapbook stories) is nominated for Best Novella.

In the morning, I hope your alarm performs exactly as you expect it to. (I hope mine does too.)

Happy End of Summer.

Breathing

Nora (aka Ravyn) is visiting this weekend. As usual, we're trying to pack as much work as possible into a three-day weekend. But tonight, we sat out by the pool with our feet in the water.

I seem to do that a lot, you say---sit with my feet in the water. The news (and my deck thermometer) indicated the temperature was around 116. Even tonight, Nora describes the air as a convection oven. It is very much like that. Water is essential when the air is still and hot.

In the last hour, I managed to spill my drink (a nearly full white Russian) and Nora performed some excellent slapstick with her deck chair. (Please don't ask for photos--there was too little time and too much water.) But, under the stars, which still tend to shine regardless of the heat, which will still shine long after Earth is gone (and it will be) we talk about things that are important to each of us.

The big stuff. The core issues. The stuff the art is made of. (I suspect this is often why people come to see me in this desert.)

I've been working on lectures for the World Fantasy Convention. It's different from most conventions, because instead of speaking before fans, students and readers, I'll mostly be speaking before my peers. (That should bring a shudder to any human of the civilized world.)

Next July, I'll have lived twenty years as a professional artist. Twenty years of creating something nearly every day. Twenty years of learning how to. Twenty years of learning how not to.

You'd think I'd have something useful to share.

Writing notes for my lectures is similar to writing notes for this blog. in that I sometimes hesitate, thinking that you're likely eons ahead of me and have already discovered anything I might figure out and that I'll look like a schmuck for even bringing it up.

Screw that. We're all teachers. We're all students. We don't need to be afraid to share.

If have a lesson for today, it's this---that we experience things as they happen, so it's a good idea to simply record them as they are, without polish or prejudice. For later.

Because the story comes later. The art comes later. Trying to force either out of the experience will only result in waste and mess and mediocre.

Add the experience to the mix. Let it stew. Let it age, like wine, or cheese. Like an idea. Let it come when it's ready.

I have twenty years of evidence to support this concept, enough to tell me it's worth sharing with you.

I've refilled my drink and put Nora into a comfortable chair. But it's late and we're yawning and tomorrow demands we sleep soon.

Hope your friday is good.
g'night

Higher Education

Summer is actually ending. The days are getting a bit shorter and the desert nights are cooling.

As it ends, I feel a bit of nostalgia for the summer I didn't have this year. Right. I ignored it on purpose---it's on me. I think it was what I needed to do.

We always appreciate things more at goodbye.

Now we're heading into another school year. I always enjoyed the start of school---it was sort of the new year for me. Even now I feel that the new year begins as the air begins to cool. Autumn has always felt more like a beginning than an ending. It's a revival of spirit. Even more so in the desert, when in summer everything (including my brain) gets burned away.

Besides, I like the smell of pencils and crayons.

Our schools are starting the year with much less than they had last year---with less than they need to succeed. A lot of teachers will be digging deep into their resources, using imagination and creativity to make up for materials they won't have. And, as always, many will spend their own money for things they feel their students can't do without.

I'll volunteer some time to art programming and to the library for readings. I did this last year and truly enjoyed it. This year it seems even more important. I encourage any of you who can to do the same. Also to find out what else you can do for schools in your area. It's reasonable to think that many schools will have want lists available.

All of our lives we're students-- we never stop learning. I tend to believe this is largely our purpose as human beings.

We're also teachers, whether we mean to be or not. Little ones are always watching us. Scary, huh?

And other humans, and Poppets.

A love of learning is contagious. Education is essential and is the responsibility of the community, not just the teachers. Much can be accomplished if we all do a little. A bit of time, donations of money or materials can make a difference. It wouldn't be a bad idea to let teachers know that their efforts are appreciated.

Summer is ending. In many places, soon the leaves will begin to turn. Here in SoCal, fire season will begin. Wherever we are, this is as good a time as any for us to resolve to be better students and teachers.

Funny thing about artists. Just one.

Last week I saw, for the first time, the 1049 film Portrait of Jennie. I'd thought to mention it mostly because the winter scenes of 1940's Central Park were so surreal and haunting, really visually stunning. I'd never heard of this movie so watched it without prejudice---Poppet style. It was the visuals that caught me first, but other aspects of the movie have held on---especially the obsession of the artist protagonist, played by Joseph Cotton. He was real to me, and when he spent the night on a snowy park bench hoping for even a glimpse of his subject, that felt real too. I know it- that calling.

This week I saw In a Dream, a documentary about artist Isiah Zagar. A totally different animal from Jennie, but again the artist and his thing.
Indeed.

No, I meant the other thing, the muse-thing. Still, the artist does appear nude here and there, for seemingly no particular reason. But it's about the work and the artist, both of which are truly remarkable.


The event I referred to last entry was a personal experience--Alison was here in the desert for working together. In late afternoon on Tuesday, she got a call that Logan-- who is not quite 2-- had suffered a seizure and was en route to the hospital via ambulance. ( He's fine now!) Kids are alien to this planet and all the viruses and bacteria and toxins it has to offer. So each time something new comes along they must exercise fledgling immune systems. This often manifests as fever with no other symptoms. (Just last week Orion had a fever for about 24 hours---we guessed lots of things but it went away before we could even decide whether it might be new teeth coming in.)
Some kids' fevers trigger weird switches in their brains so that sometimes, at certain temps, symptoms including convulsions and blue lips and even unconsciousness can occur.
Apparently it was this that happened. Getting from the initial phone call to that explanation from the pediatrician at the hospital two hours away was an exercise of another sort entirely, for the rest of us.

Now that we're several days removed and sort of breathing naturally again, I begin to think over the experience as I work. Where does it fit?
It was cloudy all day today and only in the nineties. What a relief! I worked outside and thought about watching my daughter hold it together for two hours that seemed like twenty. It was bravery and it was beautiful. It was a stretch, a test for her---to know that cold fear and to avoid panic. It was a part of the human curriculum and she/we lived it.
Now she is stronger, just a bit. And so am I.

I feel it as I paint, I see the experience integrate itself into this and future works. See how annoying that is? This thing---this obsession with the human curriculum, the human experience.
This glimpse of something that is
bigger inside than out.

It's what my work is made of, this question, this observation.
It's the light I stumble toward.
It's what Harlan Ellison meant when he told me I'm a monomaniac.

It's not so very different from other's things. We all have them, by different names.

It occurs to me that I've stopped wondering why my particular vision is. It matters less and less, why. It just is. It's my thing.

That we share a human curriculum of similar experiences, I believe. That within it, we each have our one thing, our major. Mine seems to be something involving things that are bigger inside than out.
(I tend to believe I'm honing in on it. I've thought this for approximately fifteen years.)

I don't give a rats ass anymore whether any of it means anything or not. It doesn't matter.

Because. If it's my thing, I couldn't stop doing it even if I wanted to. (I've tried.)

I'm a human being, and the curriculum applies.

And here's the funny part: Neither can you. Silly human.

***
I nearly forgot. SeaGen, Not new, but another item worth checking out. Actually there are three different projects, each different and very exciting, for creating energy from water. Also not a totally new idea, but these ideas could possibly change, well, everything.


ok. that catches us up. a little. Let me know what you think.

g'night
POT on Etsy

Pictures now, words later.

I keep forgetting that lots of people read this blog without seeing the sidebar. So---here are photos of new Halloween minis and three of the astoundingly detailed Famous Artists poppets in our Etsy Store.


Boy do I have things to tell you. Boy am I tired. Yesterday was one of those thought-provoking days---way too interesting and without sleep.

So, comfort food and bed for now.

Words tomorrow for sure.

Thanks for being here, for the great discussion on sex, and The Birds too.

Check out Sea Gen---will be talking about that tomorrow.

Why I don't talk about sex.

The question gets asked occasionally. The answer is truly simple. It's the kids. Mine, specifically.
Oh, the paradigm-shifting horror of discovering anything remotely sexual about a parent.

We're a lot alike on this, we humans. And Poppets have already figured out that once a bit gets onto the internet it's there to stay.

Perhaps in the far and barely imaginable future I'll care less about embarrassing my adult kids and more about the stories for the next generation.

Of course there are stories.

But enough about me. I'm just one human in the human sea. Back to the question. Why is it that the exploits of our grandparents are often highly entertaining, that notoriety brings a certain pride? And yet mostly we pretend our parents never had sex?

What is this then---this one-generation removed filter?

Poppets want to know, and I told them you might be able to help.

silly humans!

smog

Today we had some errands to run and as often happens, were greeted by the smog that hangs over LA and surrounding areas. And, as often happens, the conversation died away and we looked as it loomed and we thought all the things we tend to think when encountering this thing we created. It is indeed our child, and it waits silently for what comes next.

It blots out the sun.

Next year will be 2010, the year the human population is supposed to reach ten billion. There's a fair chance that for human beings to carry on long-term, most of the ten billion will need to disappear. Some people believe this has happened before, but I've never seen or heard any convincing evidence of this, regardless of how many geek-out hours I've spent listening to science channels while I work.

We are evolving. We live longer. This is no accident, and may serve us well. Or not. We seem to use the time given us less productively, on the whole. Technology is growing rapidly. There are pros and cons. Are people less intelligent than previous generations? More intelligent? I don't know. I do think it's likely that primitive man was smarter than Hollywood would lead us to believe. I also think C. M. Kornbluth was a visionary. Are his marching morons upon us already?

In the grand scheme of things humanity is still in its infancy. In the grand scheme of things it doesn't matter one iota what you do, or what I do. Evolution will meander along its own crooked path. Why is it then, that some of us feel so compelled to help human evolution along? What is it that drives some of us to do that one thing we do and to foist that thing upon the rest of humanity? To even care about a future we personally won't be part of?

What difference does it make, why? Possibly it's because as a whole, as an organism made of the human population, it takes all kinds.
It takes all kinds. Idealists and nihilists. Writers and artists and soldiers and couch potatos. All sorts of genes, all colors and shapes and sizes and visions.

So it seems the best plan is to find which we are and to be that.

So we look at the smog, or the melting glaciers, or the change in weather, at poverty in Afghanistan and Tennesee and we think all these things. We ask, again, these big questions.
What can I do? Am I helpless to affect this situation? I certainly feel helpless. Does it matter?

We talk it over, again. Then we see an Arby's sign. Fuck yeah! Five for five. We're starving, we say. But of course we are not.

Pretty soon, the smog is at our backs and we're headed into the clear dry air of the desert. We've abandoned our monster child without a backwards glance. But the little ghost remains---accountability.

So we'll acknowledge this child as our own, at least on some level, and do what we can. We are bigger inside than out. We are the makers of whatever future comes.

And. Sigh. We are small creatures. My stomach is growling, again.

What do these things have in common?*

A collector commissioned an edition of "Resonant Kiss" and I fell in love with the piece again and made two!

Resonant Kiss is the inspiration for Neil Gaiman's story "Good Boys Deserve Favors." It was really cool to revisit the piece and the story.
(It can be found in Fragile Things.)

"Marney and Pet" is inspired by old movies I watched while down with a cold. "Pet" is wearing red glasses.

A bit more October in these truly silly Cthulhu masks for Poppets. Though Poppets tell me that in the right light, they can be very scary to other Poppets.

I love that we've begun to slip Halloween on like a favorite old sweater.

And because Poppets also say(or said, as we watched The Birds) that

Sixties Chic is way too cool for humans, we dressed a few up from top to bottom in leopard print.

You may have noticed that I'm not making many one of a kind Poppets as of late. Not to worry. I'm busy working on other types of art for now, particularly for the World Fantasy Convention. I been trying to decide what sort of programs I'll put together. Generally I do an art tour and a lecture about things that are helpful to aspiring creatives, and some sort of hands-on workshop. WFC's attendees are generally professionals themselves, but I'm thinking even seasoned professionals like to have fun. So now I'm thinking about some things we can do that are both creative and silly---like making art on the spot from ridiculous items, with distraction. Stuff like that.

In between, working on some new paper mache for October. No more theraflu, but still plenty of green tea and vitamin C. What an awful bug this cold has been. If I sculpted the thing, I wonder what it might look like?

Question---ebay now charges a fee for "UK visibility." What? I mean, WTF? Does this mean that if I don't pay the fee, my listings are invisible to people in the UK?

sheesh. And while we're on new and innovative ways to rip people off, I've closed my Bank of America accounts because of their new policy on "transaction sorting." It's the only protest in my power at this point, so I'm exercising it.

How dumb, actually, do banks think their customers are? sigh. don't answer.

*really nothing, except they're all on this blog. If I had to make art from them on the spot, I'd be fairly hard-pressed.

We don't create from nothing

These last couple of days I've replaced Theraflu with green tea. This is a good sign. I'm getting some of my energy back. The good thing is that I used the sick time to "put stuff in."

We don't create from nothing, after all.

The not so good thing is that I have many fresh new ideas but can't even think about starting any. That's a downside of being a professional artist. It's a real job.


To be successful at being an artist or writer, there's really no other way than to go to work every day, without fail. No matter what else, you have to show up and work. I've got that part. Sometimes I work long hours for long stretches of time because of circumstances-- like multiple deadlines. And also because it's the nature of the work--not one person has ever told me it would be easy to be a professional artist. But working long hours can become a habit.

It can be very easy to get caught up on a wheel and forget to take time to live your life. And it's hard to find time to work on personal projects. Very hard. This is where I've been for most of the summer---and very likely why the cold hit me so hard. So it's time to work hours. To focus while I'm working and quit when time is up instead of trying to finish everything on a list.

Just as with other things, it's not so much how you work this week, but how you work over all. I might push myself extra hard for several weeks or longer to get a project done. But this isn't something that works long -term. Trust me on this---you can't do it without burning yourself out. How arrogant of me to ever think I could! And I burnt out badly several times before I figured this out.

So eventually I'll have to take some time off to play, to spend time with people I love, to see something different and to create for the love of creating. Otherwise the raw materials get used up and---
We don't create from nothing, after all.

Sometimes the most creative days are the ones spent floating on the pool drinking tea and thinking.

(I said it was hard---I didn't say the job has no good points.)

Think about your schedule, look at how you spend your days. If they're out of balance, you might want to rearrange things, or take a step back and refresh your brain.

We're still having a good discussion of The Birds on the previous post if you want to join us.

g'night

Let's talk about those chicks in Bodega Bay