Friday, March 09, 2007

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 .

Thursday, March 08, 2007

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.

Sunday, March 04, 2007

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!

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

something old/new

Lately I have been captivated by Karen Jacobs work, her bokoshu series in particular. I've always liked Japanese calligraphy and just finished watching "Lost" where Jack found out the painful consequences of thinking he knew what his tattoo meant. Don't you think that it would be real prudent to learn the alphabet before I started slinging words around ? but tonight I just said screw it and put black paint to wet paper for the first time in my life. This is probably some foul imprecation or racial slur. Next stop - uninformed gang graffiti on the interstate divider with spray paint! Watercolor techniques - there's another thing I know zero about. Having just received a fabulous art package from Rachel over at Honest Art Talk, I should stay my hand. take a class maybe. at least.

Sunday, February 25, 2007

Attention Silk Junkies!

All you silk junkies out there need to hustle on over to my buddy Jane Steinberg's shop and check out her Shibori Bits and her Cloth Candy. I need a new fiber addiction like I need hives but I know some of you just can't resist that Silk!

Cool Find!

I just love it when you find lots of something cool for real cheap! This shaving brush was languishing in a basket (with about 100+ others) at the Salvation Army. 75 cents apiece! I think they were a promotional item for a company called "Bump Patrol". Maybe some barber shop went out of business but they are new, never been used, made in China. I think the brush is goat hair - it's pretty soft. I bought a dozen of them for dye painting and discharging. That Cascade just tears up my good brushes! If you are interested in getting some of these, email me and we can work up a swap or paypal or somesuch.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

Home from NY

This is the first day I'm feeling semi-normal since getting back from NY and the first duty of the day is to get my buddy Voodoo to the vet to see about his overdue shots and an abcess on his shoulder that's been perking for a few days. Poor bugger...he'll feel better in no time. 'Doo is one of those rare cats that actually likes the pink antibiotic prescribed for infections. When the boys were young and prone to ear infections I sometimes had three different bottles of it lined up in the fridge labeled "JAKE", "COLIN" and our first cat "MOSES". Maybe later this evening there will be some fiber fiddling... until then look at this gorgeous hairstick Jan Thompson made for me from polymer clay

Thursday, February 15, 2007

I Asked For It

As I stepped off the plane, the icy blast caught me full in the face. "Ahh wonderful.." after being cooped up on the plane for 2+ hours. The the snow and freezing rain started in the early evening but the alarmist hysterics have taken over weather forecasting in the northeast too. When I lived here schools would not close for this measly lick of a squall. Dad mends apace, walking better each day. We took my Mom to a post-surgical gripe session with her orthopedist who prescribed a corset to help her back woes. She's happy now but last night I dreamed she had gotten ahold of someone's Glock and was waving it around, gansta-style, at the nursing home waitstaff. Not too farfetched. This is Reno & Ryder's buddy Mr. Potato Head.

Sunday, February 11, 2007

Sweet & Sour & Reheated

Bet you didnt' know I was a secret, closet, reformed and backsliding embroiderer?! Stitching with three or six strands of DMC floss was my very first initiation to the Society of the Needle. I used to calculate my allowance as to how many hanks of DMC I could buy each week. Floss was my crack at the age of five! Back then I made my own colors by pulling one strand from each of several colors and blending them to suit my mood. This UFO, "Sweet & Sour", has been mocking me from the pile for a while now. Last week I went to JoAnns to see if I could use a 50% off coupon on anything I actually needed. Of course not! (Jan, you were right) but I did find myself drawn to the array of embroidery threads and selected just exactly the right colors to set Sweet & Sour on the path to completion. TODAY...DMC Floss is 5 for 1$. I'm putting on my shoes right now. Another thing, I used polar fleece for batting in this piece and there is ZERO coming through as I stitch. No fluffers, no cooties, or whatever embroiderers call it when wool or cotton batting comes a creeping. ZERO creeping with fleece inside. Tasty.

Saturday, February 10, 2007

Obama in '08

I predicted this day (if only to myself and my very conservative father) right after I heard his speech at the Democratic convention in 2004. It really is time for the next generation of Americans to stop be so cynical and self-involved and step up to the responsibilities of citizenship and I sincerely hope that Barack Obama gets to lead the way. The best part about his speech this morning was that I got to watch it in the company of some young people who have been so typically steeped in cynicism and powerlessness in the face of what passes for government. They listened soberly, they nodded their heads, they went away quiet and thoughtful. There is audacity in hope.

Thursday, February 08, 2007

Packing (mentally)

I'm heading up to NY early next week to spend some time with the folks. My Dad will be sprung from the rehab joint by then, post hip-replacement, and my job will be to remind him to take it easy and do all the the household chores I can get away with so he can ease back into full throttle. I am looking forward to our crack of dawn coffee over the local newspaper. Also, I'm still plotting the March getaway now opting to rent a van each way rather that trying to cram all the gear into my Honda. Someone's blog recently mentioned an elderly horse so that was the excuse to add this photo. Inscribed "Armonk 1930" that's my Aunt Phyllis, Aunt Vera, my Dad and Tom or Jerry, one of my Grampa's horses.

Monday, February 05, 2007

New Venue!

I got word this morning that "3 to 5 For Mopery" and "Cellular Seizure" are bound for a mixed media show "Abstractions, Color & Texture" at the Aurora Gallery in Petaluma, CA. Now for all the scurrying about preparing to ship these fresh babies out into the big bad world.

Saturday, February 03, 2007

Dream Fruits

Does anyone else out there every spend the whole night dreaming through the details and possibilities of a new design or technique? The busy box corner of my brain was running on high test the other night to the point where I was still thinking things through when I woke up and wrote it all down in my poor mutilated Moleskine (I left it out in the rain the other day). Browsing through Melissa's blog on dyeing, I was intrigued with the way she used those polished black river rocks to weigh the fabric down into the dye. Combine this image with a rerun of Ken Burns "the Civil War" running on the TV all night and I decided (in my sleep of course) that polished river rocks would make a good dye resist if something soft was place under the fabric to be dyed. Jim stopped at Garden ridge on his way home from work and bought me a selection of stones so today I broke out the dyebox for a trial run of my technique. I folded a large piece of flannel and a large piece of cotton broadcloth (that are usually extra padding on my ironing board) to act as a soft mat but the fabric that I used with the rocks turned out to be a blend that didn't take the dye! It was a mess BUT the flannel & broadcloth soaked up dye like crazy....I discharged them with Cascade in the same crazed mola moves I used for Mopery and I am just thrilled with the results...sometimes dreams do pay off in a cockeyed way. The flannel is at the top of this post and here's the broadcloth which was actually two pieces seamed together.