Flogging the Art Bunny

I hear tell that's what you must do when you are in a funk. Of course there is the tried and true studio cleaning but screw that. I have been picking at that notion a little at a time since early January. Oh sure, there is some order, and surfaces have swum into view but nothing has gone up on my design wall in a long time. Last night I went to the Signature Shop Gallery in Buckhead, the heart of the "happening" part of Atlanta (depending on who you talk to, of course) to see new works by Elizabeth Barton and Juliarose Lofredo. The contrast between JL's simmering minimalism and EB's energetic textures and colors made for an interesting show. I wish I had remembered my camera but there's just nothing like seeing fiber art in person. Both of these artists use miles and miles of hand stitching in their work which just draws you in close and you had better clench your teeth or your jaw will hang open.There should be a sign up that says "NO DROOLING ON THE ART". The only fiber art classes I have ever take have been with Elizabeth Barton, a great teacher and charming lady with a dry wit and down to earth approach to art and things in general. _________________________________________ (37.5 x 26.5) I have never done any whole cloth work but I was inspired by the show to dig out a piece of cotton sateen from one of last years dye sessions. It came out so spectacular that I have never had the heart to hack into it. Now I have sandwiched it in preparation at my attempt at a stitching a wholecloth piece. My problem is this - I don't know what I want to do with the stitching. I have been absorbed with picking out the wonderful little accidental elements that come out of this type of dye technique like these: My inclination is to use stitching to point these elements out and somehow relate them to one another. I plan on using cotton floss for the first time since I embroidered my bell bottoms so that's going to be interesting. I anticipate a lot of false starts. Oh well, I have been hungering for some hand work. Any opinions?

Speaking of Wayback Machines

Sister Patty sent me some fun... The No. 1 song on your 18th birthday is said to be your life's theme song. Go to this link, type in your month, day and year of your 18TH BIRTHDAY and hopefully it explains as much for you as it did for me. Don't type in your date of birth, as it requests, instead type in the date of your 18th birthday. Mine was "The Letter" by the Boxtops

The Sibs

DebR's post du jour with all the oldies put me in a way-back frame of mind and when you don't have anything to post about what art you are up to, resorting to pet and old baby pictures is always a safe bet. Yep, the big one is me, six or seven, the Ringleader and if sh*t happened.. it was all my fault. To my left, Kitty. How do you like them prison haircuts? I think it was the following year that Mom took Kitty and I to Macy's in White Plains (Where Santa Claus lived in the off season!) to a so-called specialist in children's haircuts. I will never forget how he sawed our braids off at the root without even undoing them. Mine, fat and stubby, Kitty's long and thin. My mother cried as she picked them up and wrapped rubber bands around the cut ends. The fiend gave us the popular Pixie haircut. My hair grew straight out from my head. With those giant teeth I looked more like a half-grown lion cub than a Pixie. These days Kitty is still the dashing professional. How many of you can say you have a following? Next to her is baby sister Patty, a single, two-job working Mom to a teenage daughter, but don't pity her, she's so good at it all. Martha Stewart could eat off her floors. On my right, baby brother Robbie, my charge, which is why he grew up wild. I have one of those half-baked memories that no one will admit to. We all had harnesses with zippers in the front and leashes hooked to the back and I seem to recall being hitched like a sled dog to Robbie's stroller. Why not? We were a powerful troika. I would have done the same thing with four kids. Rob became a father for the first time two years ago this April - twin boys! He lives to see Ryder and Reno conquer the world, all the while living with my parents and being their main care-giver - not that they would ever admit to needing one. The babies light up their lives. Right now my Mom is in the hospital undergoing a battery of tests before surgery. She has been in poor health most of her life and has outlived all of her friends, three of whom passed just last year, and most of her family. Eight hundred miles away, I am holding my breath too often these days.

the Zombies efforts

"E's not dead, just stunned" -Monty Python Here's evidence that I have not shuffled off this mortal coil - about one tenth of my stash folded and sorted by color...and then adorned with Cat Ass. Still no shelves to contain them so these stacks will probably go into right back into the plastic boxes.Deep in the night for the past week, I might have wished for that shuffle in my coma-dreams. There was little sleep. I injured my back last week in a very stupid manner.

For those of you who know about Yoga, I actually fell asleep in a fat woman's variation of the Child's Pose. You know, knees a-spraddle, belly dragging on the mattress and head cradled on folded arms as I listened to the music from the "Breathe" yoga show on TV. The Dr. heckled me for stretching my sciatic nerve (let's hope she's right) and then went on to prescribe some Hillbilly Heroin for me. I took one dose, spent two hours scratching madly, giggled inappropriately at the TV, goaded the sleeping cats into play, and to frost the cake, took out markers and started coloring in the dark. About two in the morning, my GoodMan rolled over and told me he was planning on smothering me with a pillow if I didn't settle down. The pain never left, I just didn't care. No more O. for me.

When not feeling too totally crappy, I have resumed machine quilting this un-named project I started last summer at Elizabeth Barton's studio. And no jokes about a dildo farm. This piece is quite large and I really didn't notice all things being at arm's length and all.

Head cold Redux

If boogers were gold, I could really retire. Did this cold ever really go away? My head feels like it's full of wet cement. I'm down to Alka-Selter for Colds mixed in Gallo Hearty Burgundy. Nasty but effective. In the meantime, all I can muster in the studio are more of these. I probably shouldn't be allowed to use the rotary cutter much less operate a Janome.