the sandwich shop

Apart from taking a break to see (hear) the Mets sweep the Braves and have a migraine headache (is there a relationship here?) , I've been busy building backs from scraps and getting these dye-painted tops sandwiched and ready for stitching. I've really enjoyed the "Mob Scene" series and don't yet know if I am finished with it . I don't want to start another set of dyed pieces until I've seen all of these (and a few more) through to completion.

Going to the Show!

whoop:whoop "3 to 5 for Mopery" has been juried into Art Quilts XII: Current at the Chandler Center for the Arts, Chandler, AZ. Yesterday, Jim asked me if I had gotten over the concern (I won't call it angst) of selling off my "babies". I scoffed and assured him that was not the case but in this case there's still a pang over the thought that each time I send it off I may never see it again. Try as I might, the reality of this piece continues to elude my camera. If the sun ever comes back out, I'll take it outside and try again before I have to ship it.

New on the Wall

I spent nine innings with this one last night - building a back from scraps and hacking into a King-sized W&N batt. Please don't let me buy those pre-bagged things anymore. Even if I do have a 50% off coupon. There's something wrong with it...thin and nasty compared with the kind you buy off the roll. No wonder it was on sale. This is 43x55. Now that's it's up where I have to look at it, it's just as disturbing as it was when I first painted it. Yep, blood & bullets.

Ding Dong - the Queen of Mean is dead

What a miserable wretch she must have been. I'm only surprised that she didn't have her dog killed now so she wouldn't have to wait to be buried with it. When Leona Helmsley was sentenced to the Bedford Hills Women's Correctional Facility in 1989 for tax evasion she, and other celebrity prisoners, were at my mercy. Bedford, NY is right in the heart of celebrity ridden Westchester County. Martha Stewart could deliver hot pies to the prison. Hilary & Bill could drive 10 minutes up the Saw Mill Parkway to help eat them and probably do. If you are lucky, you could get run down (and not killed) by a celebrity in any number of small towns. James Coburn almost got me with a Jeep as I crossed (With the light!) in front of the Reed Library in my hometown, Carmel. But I digress. I was back working at my first full time job since my kids were born - a telephone operator for AT&T. The Carmel office handled a huge volume of collect calls from the inmates of the dozens of state and federal prisons that dot the landscape in the largely agrarian communities in the counties that lie north of the richer bedroom communities serving Manhattan. Unlike of old-fashioned switchboards (which I also operated back in '71) we had no control over what calls we received. The collect call from prisoners flowed into our headsets endlessly but were always interesting to me. Prisoners would often try to engage us in conversation outside of the scope of our handling the call - frowned on by management of course. There were perverts galore and no shortage of cranky bastards looking to verbally abuse whoever they could find - telephone operators were always handy. Dealing with miscreants appropriately was always a challenge. Many operators suffered from job-related stress. I thrived on it but it always saddened me when requests to accept charges were denied. Leona was another matter. She never seemed to get the hang of what was required of her and being a prisoner bound by the rules of the facility must have been extremely difficult for her. All she had to do was pick up the phone and say "collect call" at a minimum. Invariably, she had to be prompted to make this request like she was mentally deficient. Some operators took it as an act of defiance on her part and would hang up on her after the required prompt and 15 seconds wait. I was intrigued. If a call came in, and there was silence on the line I would intone "What is it you wish, Madam?"in my best Masterpiece Theater butler's voice, and she would mutter "Collect call." in a venomous hiss. My next obligation was to ask the identity of the caller even though I knew who it was. "May I have your name, please?" Her response was always eerie. As if she was announcing the Second Coming and I was a pagan idiot, she gave one imperious response "HELMsley". Of course, they always accepted the charges.

Archeological Dig

Part of the fun (?) of renovating is going through the storage to see just what was stowed away. Now the question is why some things were kept. I made myself a little gallery of things on the design wall and find that only one or two of these still speak to me at all. I foresee a useful life for a lot of this stuff. Art Potholders for everyone this Christmas! This little thing goes back to one of my first adventures in discharging (02/05) and it's lines and shapes are still with me. This fired clay mask watches over the studio. Jake made it while he was still in school. I think I'm going to buy him a big box of clay and see what happens.