What It Feels Like

"This is What It Feels Like"

Fused glass mounted on resin-treated barnboard, old nails added

(glass: 5x6.5 in; overall dimensions about 8x14 in)

Trying to get some things ready for exhibit and catch up on everything else all at once-- and naturally I am way behind. This is a piece I should have shipped out Friday at the latest. The silicone I used to mount the glass is still not cured (it is supposed to take 24 hours; 48 and counting....*). I hope I'm not too late too late to make the exhibit. Nonetheless, the mount came out pretty much as I'd hoped. The final touch will be the wire on the back so it can hang on the wall (it is propped here).

The glass piece grew out of my need to express what it felt like when I was sickest with Lyme disease. I created that part a couple of years ago, when I was just starting to do art again after over 16 years. I am mounting it for an art exhibit in association with a showing of the film "Under Our Skin", a documentary about people whose Lyme disease went overlooked or who were denied appropriate treatment, and the devastating effect that had on their lives. I hope I manage to get this piece there in time to be included because that is what happened to me.

The barnboard had to be stabelized with resin because it was falling apart: a metaphor for what happened to my life before I was finally diagnosed and treated, and started putting my life back together. And then got it again. Oh, well. I am almost back.

Watch those ticks, and do regular tick checks. I am serious.

Now back to the framing room to finish getting a couple of paintings ready for the gallery...

* PS: Which law is that, the one that says when you are up against a deadline, something will go wrong? The silicone (premier brand) proved to be defective and never set! Late Sunday, I scraped it off, cleaned the back of the glass, and used a different silicone compound, which I had sitting in my house repair drawer. By Monday morning, it had set up nicely and the piece is ready to ship. I notified the show organizer and she is holding a prime spot for me. Though the show opens today, the reception is Friday, and it will be in place. Yay!

Day before leaf-fall

soft pastel on sanded matboard, 5x7 in. (13x17 cm)

A challenge in pastels: blue, red, yellow, and any two sticks of your choosing. Instead of painting from one of the photos provided, I decided to paint a simple plein air of the view across the street. I wanted to catch the glow from the late afternoon light. I picked out the pastel sticks quickly so that I wouldn't lose the light, and inadvertantly picked out only one extra, a pale grey, so this was actually done with only four sticks of color. I held the piece of matboard in my hand, and worked quickly before the light faded-- about 15 minutes, with a little touchup the next day.

This was quite fun. And I like this little piece. I'll do more of them. And try more challenges like this.

And yes, the leaves began falling the next day, which was yesterday. My daughter and I stacked my firewood in a glory of falling leaves. By afternoon, the ground was red and orange.

The Horse, # 48

Soft pastel on archival paper, 14x18 in (26x46 cm)

A brief explanation: my computer crashed. Right after I fell and badly sprained my ankle. I am just now getting all my software and stuff working and organized. It wasn't quite as high a priority as catching up on all the things needing done before winter once I got back on my feet. So that's where I've been.

While laid up (with my ankle in an air cast and elevated-- no standing at easels), I kept my sketchbooks handy and drew randomly, mostly in charcoal or soft graphite broad pencil. I drew memories, odds and ends around the house, and sometimes, images that crept out of my dreams.

I had been repeatedly dreaming (and still am) variations of a big-boned, muscled filly, many times with the sensation of being astride her. Rarely any but partial images: muscled haunches, tail flaring, the curve of her neck as she heaved upward, a flank, hooves pushing against dust-roiled earth, odor of equine sweat and dust. I felt compelled to capture the intensity of these images, and drew them again and again. I wanted to get out to one of the stables nearby to study and draw horses, but was unable to. I looked up pictures of horses and studied them to learn more about horse anatomy (not having been a horsie girl in my youth). I wanted to capture the sense of mass and movement and struggle that feature so strongly in my dreams. I am gradually getting there.

I've lost count of how many sketches I've made. She started coming together about a dozen sketches ago. I'm still working on her. The composition I have in mind of the final painting is quite different, more dynamic, but first I needed to see her whole, welcome her into my consciousness. For in some way, she is me.

So where was I?

I've got to change the header on this blog. "Day by day" works for living, but I sure haven't applied it to my postings. So what have I been doing?

Well... recovering from Lyme disease, for one. I've had it for years, do pretty well most of the time. I do routine tick checks because I am PARANOID about them. Last fall, duh, guess I missed a tick and got a whole new Lyme infection. Babesiosis too, which I did NOT have before. So there went a couple of months while I went through the early stages of treatment (I'm not done yet). Never stopped sketching, but for a while some days that was all I could do.

In case Babesiosis as much a mystery to you as it is to most folks, it's caused by an amoebic parasite that is carried by the same black-legged ticks that carry Lyme. It's a lot like malaria, though the two aren't related. Aren't you glad you know? You should be, 'cause you could be next. Be careful out there, and do those tick checks!

Okay, once I started feeling better, I became a delegate to my state's Democratic convention, and since I seem to be stuck living where I am instead of moving back west, I infiltrated the local planning commission. Got a batch of paintings ready for the gallery spring changeover and a couple more for the Vermont Pastel Society member show. Did a radio interview with a clueless producer and host. Hate those.

Then the weather hit. This is Vermont, not Georgia. Why are we having 90 degree weather with humidity to match and nights that don't cool off in early June? Oh, yeah... global climate change. And to think some people still think it isn't happening. Go figure. They do NOT live on the same planet as the rest of us.

But today was lovely, and my flowers are blooming. Tomorrow will be even more lovely, and I can finally get some work done in my vegie garden.

I did do some pastel work while I was under the weather (in both senses of the phrase). No, not work: playful experimentation. I thought I'd share a couple here. You'll have to scroll down, because I'm going to date them the days I did them. But to make up for all these words with no pictures, I'll stick in a couple photos of my lovely flowers.

Imaging Chelan

pastel on archival paper, pumice ground

38x51 cm (15x20 in)

Lake Chelan is a narrow 50 mile long lake mysteriously located in the desert mountains of Central Washington. Oh, sure, geologists have figured out why it's there, but that doesn't change the mystery of experiencing it. The place is stunning, and changes character with the seasons and the time of day. It is only partly accessible by road, and the far reaches can be reached only by boat in the summer. It is one of the most beautiful places on earth. This painting is far from a literal rendering. It is my imagining of the lake from a memory of a long ago kayak trip, nearing sunset.

(Note: this painting was difficult to photograph and to color correct for the screen. It looks a bit garish here. I'll try again later and see if the subleties of the color can be brought out better. Addendum, Feb. 3, 2009: in addition, I've since worked more on this painting, so it looks quite different.)

Cobbled together old house

pastel on achival paper, sanded surface

30x30 cm (12x12 in)

This is my "cobbled-together-old-house", pretty much as it is in real life, but taken down to its most basic form, as if filtered through memory. Perhaps my granddaughter might hold a mind's image like this of grammy's house when she is my age. I carry one of my grandmother's house in the foothills of southern Oregon. The image in my mind is like the one shown in pictures of the house, but with layers of memory that create an entire complex lens through which I see it, and gardens and fields around it.