I am excited about entering SPUN because it's being held at a gallery in the town where I grew up, Katonah, New York. If I get a piece into this show, I will want my whole name up on the little card. Someone just might know who Deborah Useted Lacativa is.
"Get Out of the Water" is a wierd little experiment along lines that I am going to pursue again. You can't tell from the photo but it's amost an inch thick. I folded and layered a largish piece of cheepo hi-loft polyester batting and stitched it into shape with a few big loops of Nymo. Then I proceeded to mummify it with pieces of what feels like cotton lawn but is actually some cotton guaze scarves I bought and hand-dyed last year.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
I took the day off from the office to get my own paperwork done. It took most of the morning to do all the necessaries to get a show entry into the mail. First thing, I decided that one of the three pieces I had settled on was weak and a replacement player was jumping up and down on the bench screaming for attention. Then I had to reshoot most of the pictures, burn a CD, fill out the paperwork. And doncha know by the time I got to the post office half the town was there on their lunchbreak all stamping their feet and aggravating the staff with general impatience. I swear I am going to move to Montana. In my haste, I wound up mailing the entry to the gallery instead of the Country Quilter in Somers where it was supposed to go. A quick email to Jane Davila assured me that I wasn't the only one to make this mistake and the gallery was on the lookout for strays like mine. -3 points for haste.
I am excited about entering SPUN because it's being held at a gallery in the town where I grew up, Katonah, New York. If I get a piece into this show, I will want my whole name up on the little card. Someone just might know who Deborah Useted Lacativa is.
"Get Out of the Water" is a wierd little experiment along lines that I am going to pursue again. You can't tell from the photo but it's amost an inch thick. I folded and layered a largish piece of cheepo hi-loft polyester batting and stitched it into shape with a few big loops of Nymo. Then I proceeded to mummify it with pieces of what feels like cotton lawn but is actually some cotton guaze scarves I bought and hand-dyed last year.
I am excited about entering SPUN because it's being held at a gallery in the town where I grew up, Katonah, New York. If I get a piece into this show, I will want my whole name up on the little card. Someone just might know who Deborah Useted Lacativa is.
"Get Out of the Water" is a wierd little experiment along lines that I am going to pursue again. You can't tell from the photo but it's amost an inch thick. I folded and layered a largish piece of cheepo hi-loft polyester batting and stitched it into shape with a few big loops of Nymo. Then I proceeded to mummify it with pieces of what feels like cotton lawn but is actually some cotton guaze scarves I bought and hand-dyed last year.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Southbound
Although the fat envelope won't materialize in my mailbox until next week sometime, a little email birdy told me that "Needleturning at Sunrise" has been accepted into "Considering Quilts '06" at the Atlantic Center for the Arts in Florida. Now all I have to do is figure out how to mount or display the little thing. It's only about 14"x11" and I have never had a piece this small on display. Somehow, sleeves and rods don't seem to be the thing. Time to ask some experts.Wednesday, February 15, 2006
More Humbuggery
Although I love spontaneous tokens of affection, my Goodman knows that given a choice, I would be happier to get a good tool than a bunch of roses. This year he gave me both. The new laser level to replace the one stolen off his job will come in handy if I ever get back to making anything bigger than my cutting mat. I bought these for myself - the hope of Spring.
I hate Valentine's day along with all the other Hallmark holidays that have insinuated themselves into Western (lackof) culture.
Of course there are those of you out there who will snuffle into their sleeves and say "Sure, she was one of those kids who didn't get any Valentines at school..no wonder she doesn't like it". Nope, even way back then you could buy cheap little packs of 20 cutout cards where all you had to do was stamp your greasy pawprint on the backside and then pass them out to all of your classmates without even writing a name on the envelope, I thought it was a stupid holiday. Like most kids, I had my posse of friends, some fans and a handful of jealous enemies and suffered no social anxieties. I took no beatings and rarely had to give any. Comedy and reasoning were my shield and sword.
I think I was in third grade when I told my mother I wouldn't be needing any Valentines that year. Fine with her, she had two younger aspiring social butterflies to groom and more likely candidates than I was, all scabs and attitude. I think Mom knew I was an anarchist by the time I was two and was resigned to it.
So on Valentine's day we all had little paper baskets set out on our desks that we had made in Art class - Yes, ART! The Katonah Elementary had a wonderful paste-eating class, the highlight of my Monday, Wednesday and Fridays. At various points in the day, you were supposed to go around and put your cards in the baskets. I observed some kids poking through their take, counting the unopened cards they had received and groaning or gloating over how much or little they were liked by their peers. It seemed to me that almost everyone had about the same little heap of cheesy envelopes. One kid had obviously made her valentines, cutting and pasting the red paper and heart-shaped doilies, one for each and every person in the class and all with a wallet sized picture of Her Grace glued in the middle. An aspiring class president, no doubt.
About five minutes before the bell we were allowed to get our coats, speak to the teacher, copy assignments from the board and generally mill around. I took the opportunity to surreptitiously take the pile of cards from my basket, stuff it deep into my desk and go around the room and redistribute the cards I had received. Kids looked at me and beamed. I snuck Miss PhotoThing's card into the teachers In Box no doubt stamping her an asskisser from that day on. I can remember being happy that folks were so easily amused.
I hate Valentine's day along with all the other Hallmark holidays that have insinuated themselves into Western (lackof) culture.
Of course there are those of you out there who will snuffle into their sleeves and say "Sure, she was one of those kids who didn't get any Valentines at school..no wonder she doesn't like it". Nope, even way back then you could buy cheap little packs of 20 cutout cards where all you had to do was stamp your greasy pawprint on the backside and then pass them out to all of your classmates without even writing a name on the envelope, I thought it was a stupid holiday. Like most kids, I had my posse of friends, some fans and a handful of jealous enemies and suffered no social anxieties. I took no beatings and rarely had to give any. Comedy and reasoning were my shield and sword.
I think I was in third grade when I told my mother I wouldn't be needing any Valentines that year. Fine with her, she had two younger aspiring social butterflies to groom and more likely candidates than I was, all scabs and attitude. I think Mom knew I was an anarchist by the time I was two and was resigned to it.
So on Valentine's day we all had little paper baskets set out on our desks that we had made in Art class - Yes, ART! The Katonah Elementary had a wonderful paste-eating class, the highlight of my Monday, Wednesday and Fridays. At various points in the day, you were supposed to go around and put your cards in the baskets. I observed some kids poking through their take, counting the unopened cards they had received and groaning or gloating over how much or little they were liked by their peers. It seemed to me that almost everyone had about the same little heap of cheesy envelopes. One kid had obviously made her valentines, cutting and pasting the red paper and heart-shaped doilies, one for each and every person in the class and all with a wallet sized picture of Her Grace glued in the middle. An aspiring class president, no doubt.
About five minutes before the bell we were allowed to get our coats, speak to the teacher, copy assignments from the board and generally mill around. I took the opportunity to surreptitiously take the pile of cards from my basket, stuff it deep into my desk and go around the room and redistribute the cards I had received. Kids looked at me and beamed. I snuck Miss PhotoThing's card into the teachers In Box no doubt stamping her an asskisser from that day on. I can remember being happy that folks were so easily amused.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Wonderful Distraction
At the office where I work part time, new books on every creative endeavor you can imagine arrive daily. I got into the habit of averting my eyes when I passed through the nook where the Book Mistress presides over the stacks but the other day I was captivated by this cover. The book is "Beyond the Basics - Gourd Art" by David Macfarlane and is filled with one jewel of creation after another. This cover photo is a piece by Artist Mari Mickler Moss.
I have long been looking for an excuse to cultivate something more useful than crabgrass in my front yard. It's the only place on my property that gets enough sun to grow vegetables and since there are no rules or covenants in this old neighborhood about what you can grow in plain view of the world, I think I am going to plow all that miserable grass under and take full advantage of the rising damp from the elderly septic fields that must compete with an underground spring that courses through the yard. My lawn stays green and demanding all summer long while my neighbors either water or live with crispy brown crewcut lawns that crunch when you walk on them. Why not grow some potential art instead? Anyone want to buy a slightly used lawn mower?
Saturday, February 11, 2006
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