(click and shop!) I spent the morning ironing and taking pictures of some of the new hand dyed pieces that I did down in Florida. If you decide you want any of these pieces, please email me first to make sure I haven't run wild and chopped up or otherwise mutilated the piece you were craving. I folded them up and put them away but not too far away. heh heh heh...

Peapods From Mars?

Are these not marvelous? They are the cut-off ends of ...I don't know what to call them. Jan Thompson has been working with polymer clay and these conglomerates are the starting place leftovers. There has to be a better name but who cares what to call something this strange and wonderful. They make me think of Karen Kamenetzky's quilts.

Note to Self from Katz

...the raspy voice on the phone said "And don't come home without it." Click.

Feebleminded Shepherd

So here I am once again in charge of a whole flock of headless sheep. That's a poor analogy but the ones that come first reveal the most, I guess. After the dyefest on Saturday I now have at least a dozen starts, some wonderful and clamoring to be worked, others (like this one, 40somethingx60something monster) with their necks in a noose and their feet on a block of ice. Well, that's a bit harsh but you get the picture. I'll be working it first out of guilt - it used to be a beautiful blue/green undersea dream until I brutalized it with discharging. The very first piece I ever sold, "Parking Magik" was so unresponsive and balky at first I very nearly fed it into an industrial shredder at the office one night when I was stymied with the whole thing. That seems to be the way of things. Ugly ducklings really do grow up to be pterodactyls.

Amazing Stuff

Another artist stumbled upon - Hollis Heichemer - these paintings seethe and simmer with incredible energy. I have to find out more. She has been particularly gracious in inviting us into her process with these progress pages.

L'ville Frankenstein Dyeworx '07 debut

I lied. I told myself I was going to let these poach in their own juices overnight but the suspense was killing me. So was the heat. It looks like we are going to dispense with Spring and jump right into Summer. These were pieces of Testfabrics 400M that I soaked in soda ash solution down in Fl last week. I ran out of time and energy down there so I just dried and folded them. This is the first time I have painted directly on the readied fabric, no alginate. After I was finished with each one, I sprayed it good with more soda ash "just in case of what" I won't ever think about again - the washout produced almost zero runoff except a little errant turquoise. Better shots once stuff is dried and ironed.

Focus on Fiber - Fruit #1

I've finally gotten back into the studio, put things away (mostly) and gotten back to work finishing off the things that got such a flying start down in Florida. This piece was a rescue overdye of a few pieces that nearly got made into a rag rug. I mixed up a color I called "Monkey Brown" and got quite carried away with it but once I saw the fabrics drying on the line the elements fell into place without complaint or struggle. For once I am completely at a loss for a title (although "Giraffe Crosses Against the Light" was bandied about in the studio) so I asked Jim. He suggested "SOLD". I am considering it.

Good things happen when you aren't looking

I used this image a long time ago and it still continues to be relevant. Yesterday several friends emailed me to let me know that congrats were in order - I have had two pieces accepted into PAQA South's "Art Quilts - Markings" and later in the day came an invitation to have my work seen by a production company that buys art for set decoration in films! Who knew? That's another phrase that keeps coming out of my mouth these days. Good thing I'm not chewing gum when I cross the street. The latter opportunity fills me with wonder. Have you ever sat and watched a film just to eyeball the paintings and sculptures? Take a fresh look at "Meet Joe Black" (as if Brad Pitt was difficult to look at)- the mansion where most of the movie was shot is full of the most amazing paintings. I can just see my "Sunny Jim" in some chick flick. Well, to quote Judy Tenuta "IT COULD HAPPEN!"

Home At Last

Back from a fabulous week of working as hard as I've ever worked and had a great time at the same time, met a bunch of new terrific people and some great old friends. ...and decided purple hair was a better souvenir than a Bike Week Tramp Stamp. Better pictures tomorrow. Tonight it's laundry, unpacking and SLEEP.

finally some evidence

This is just one of a whole bunch of large pieces that have gotten started on while here. 42x64 inches was causing me grief because I had nothing that large for the back. Then someone reminded me of the "community materials" donated and brought in. After a brief rummage I found an amazing piece of sturdy broadcloth not only large enough but the same exact and crazy shade of lavender you see here. Now for acres of ironing and heatsetting. This piece dye painted with soy wax resist and fabric paint touchup is ongoing.

working my fingers to the bone

...and loving it. Yesterday I worked from cain't see to cain't see and have got some terrific stuff to show for it - of course this is Mac world here and I have no clue how to make this machine cozy up to my camera so I can post some pictures so that will have to wait until I get back. Today I devoted some time to overdyeing some old rejects and bringing them back into play. The accomodations are fine, the food is great. I used to crab about there not being enough hours in the day - now I have to acknowledge that I can't be up and functional 20 hours a day - at least not two days in a row. Ciao for now.

Spring Signs

I'm less than half packed and I'm sitting here wondering how I'm going to spend a week away from my favorite live shows. The Barn Owls of Italy, TX (Mum standing around glumly wondering when her Prince will show up) and The Great Horned Owls of CA (Single, urban Mom struggling to raise three young huns.)

inspiration needed

I have been in a tiz making lists and losing them. Lists of the stuff I want do drag down to Focus On Fiber next week. Much of the frenzy is about avoiding the blank spot between my ears where ideas about art usually hatch. Seems the muse is in rehab with Crow leaving me casting about for eyecandy. Speaking of same, both of these painting are by Joe Tully. The amazing spontaneity and energy of his work is thrilling. If you have a few hours to spend, start wandering through the Saatchi online gallery where I first tripped over this artist and then followed his bread crumbs to another amazing artist's resource site: Artist File Online .

My Crow is in Rehab...

Nothing like a change of subject to help move on. Que Sera, Sera is all I want to say about the previous post. The crow? Something I didn't have enough energy to blog about once I returned from NY. Also, I didn't want to think about it much but since he's going to survive...

 The day before I left to come home it was bitterly cold, something like 10 degrees. I was doing the dishes and heard a commotion at the large bird feeder that dominates the front window. Moments before, a gang of crows were celebrating over a batch of burnt popcorn. As I looked out to see what the disturbance was about, they dispersed skittishly save one. ALL the birds took off except one crow who sat in an odd stance on the snow. "That's not right" I told my dad as I stepped outside for a better look.

The snow was really two inches of ice so I stepped gingerly across it with an old New Englander's bad knees fears roaring in my ears. The crow did not move or mutter. His head was up, eyes open - he seemed in a trance. As I grew closer I saw the blood, dark crimson on his impossibly black feathers and dotting the snow. I bent slowly and encircled his body as best I could with my bare hands.

Crows are huge. Bigger than soup chickens. Nothing, not a peep nor shift of muscle in protest and as I raised him up I saw the gashes around his eye and the one under his beak pulsing, dripping with his steady heartbeat that I could feel like a bomb ticking. He was bleeding to death in my hands. I brought him into to house with my fingers pressed tight over the bleeder that seemed to be counting his life out in a trail of bright splotches through the snow.

My Dad protested feebly but knowing my history with birds in plight he just watched, anxiously concerned over some clutch of germs that crows supposedly carry. "Soap and water, Dad, not to worry." Easy for me to say, I was leaving for GA the next day. After keeping direct pressure on the worst wound for a few minutes and determining that he still had both eyes, I rolled him burrito style in an old dishtowel so he couldn't flutter or walk once, or if, he came to his senses.

 He wasn't unconscious but seemed to be "away" - all of his instincts in abeyance as I handled and tended him. I have no illusions about being a "bird charmer" the most injured birds will still struggle for escape and survival and injure themselves even worse when humans try to intervene. This bird was dying.


 I found an empty diaper box, tucked him in it and set it in the dark and warm laundry room. My hands were covered in gore and I was amazed that I hadn't gotten blood all over my clothes. Checking the web I found that the generous residents Westchester, NY one of the richest counties in the USA, has spent some of it's wealth for a Wildlife rehabilitation organization probably out of desperation as all the critters now routed from their habitat and conflict with the people on a daily basis. I left a quick message and within minutes a woman called me back asking if I could take him to the Somers Animal Hospital just ten minutes away. I quickly agreed but told her "Ma'am, I can't afford open heart surgery on a crow..." she assured me that all the care was provided by vets and staff volunteers. No charge to save a wild life.

Within a few minutes I was lifting the box out of the trunk of the car and Crow was staring angrily out a crack at me seemingly amazed to be where he was as I handed him over to a crew vet techs. This was the same animal hospital where, over thirty years ago, I sat in the waiting room with my then future husband, holding hands in grief while I waited to hear whether my dog, Danny Baily, would live or die. He had been hit by a car and was injured internally. He lived and thrived thanks to the care he received at this place,including a blood transfusion from their resident donor dog named Mountain. Amazing the memories a place will hold.

 Anyway, Crow spent a week in treatment and now is in rehabilitation where he will be assessed for release to the wild. I hope they hold him until the weather warms up a bit. We'll never know for sure why he was attacked but, reading up on it, I found out that crows will attack one of their own if it is weak or injured or acting oddly. Maybe he had the gall to bitch about the popcorn being burnt.

LOST!

(cue Little Richard - SOMEBODY HELP ME!) Remember these earrings I got for Christmas two years ago? They are lost somewhere in my house and I am heartsick, not to mention wallet-appalled. I jokingly called these my bail fund but more important, they were a gift from my GoodMan and in thirty years of marriage I have never lost a gift he has given me. If someone out there has any psychic clues, please be generous. Looking for them has become obsessive. Today I am going to tear apart a California King-sized platform bed on the off chance that they somehow got under it in a place I cannot see or reach. I have run out of logical places to look and it's making me crazier than usual. OK-it's NOT under the bed. My stomach hurts from trying to move the mattress alone but I'm satisfied that nothing I really want was under there. Joyce suggests prayers to St.Anthony. I'm easy, I'll go with whatever voodoo BS gets the job done. Spaghetti sauce & meatballs today in St.Anthony's honor. Tony, help me find my diamonds, Dammit!