starting place

Every piece has to start somewhere.

reply

dear ANT...forgive the public reply but after I finished writing you, I was fresh out.... No Yogi here...Of all the writers on that blog, I like Clairan best ( I used to follow the blog but lately there's so little time) it's just that after I read one of the posts, like this one, I heave a great sigh and think, just like you, "Meanwhile, Cy was off in a corner, toking on a bone and having a great laugh on the rube who just gave him six months rent for something he did while grunting over a tough bowel movement, damn that week-old fried rice anyway." Who KNOWS what an artist has in mind and if you asked them at the moment (or close to) of creation, would they tell the honest truth? "I was just dicking around with the new colored pencils...you know, the ones that still had sharp points and I was mad about the bitch on the third floor turning her pointy nose in the air when I dared smile at her in the lobby, I mean who the FOCK does she think she is anyway, the nasty twat, and thanks for asking but NOW the General Tso is giving me diarrhea. I think I'll take a canvas in the crapper with me and see what comes out...." I wonder what percentage of the entire AB-Ex (or any movement, for that matter) movement stems from so many people having private, personal and completely non-artistic moments with some art materials because somewhere along the way they got the notion that being an Artist was glamorous and some loving family member seized on the opportunity to encourage the little demon in a non-destructive direction. I mean, really, my gramma taught me cross-stitch embroidery to get me the hell out of her kitchen where I could be found at any moment eating a square of Bakers' chocolate (and swearing it was great!) or crunching on whole roasted coffee beans just to hear the noise. My memory of her kitchen and it's contents is photographic right down to which of her two parakeets would bite you to bloody and which one would ride around on your head, crapping merrily into your braids. Have I digressed? Go to the studio, you say? Last night a restaurant manager called to report an employee's slip and fall in the kitchen. I was required to ask "What type of tile is on the floor?" and before he could tell me, I offered "Butter Creme or Chocolate?" Also " A woman ran out of the establishment without paying claiming that the Devil sat down at the table opposite her and was making a racket with the silverware". The police were called to the scene but did not respond. Addendum - As I look around blogland, I see the wonderful work of artists everywhere who are working with their favorite stuff merely for the pleasure of doing it. Some of these pieces jump off the page and move the heart. Their work speaks openly and honestly of their motivations. To me, the joy found in the making of it is enough.

stash

I've been at the computer for a while rebuilding the Fiber Fandango website and digging through my files to find the images that go along with the pieces from my stash that will be on the block...I really don't want to have to reshoot these things. I'm finding things that are speaking to me in ways I wasn't paying attention to back when they were first created.

casting about for direction

We had a solid week of gray weather and rain here. I've been hard put to think about any larger creative issues beyond what I could hold in my hands under the lamplight. I spent most of yesterday torturing this little piece of black wool. Now I wonder what will become of it if I try to iron/steam it flat. Last weekend's dyefest took a lot out of me and now the pile of bright colors mock me from a corner of the studio. I started another one of these at the office the other day but the fluorescent lighting was giving me a headache. It's one of those cube farms where you sit wherever when you get there, our schedules vary day to day, and I made the mistake of getting used to a particular seat and the lighting there. Several days last week I had to sit in strange places with bad chairs and worse lighting. Now I have to take the time to go to my doctor so she will write me a note saying I have to have an ergonomically correct chair and have it committed to a seat where the lighting suits my needs too. Whine, whine, whine. Next!

gross commerce

It's hard to see due to the color scheme but this is a little bag I crocheted from ribbon for my tarot cards. I started it at work and finished off while we watched "Wall-e" on Sunday. Of course, I wept. A lot of folks have been asking about the sugar dyed damasks so I went through what was left in my stash and put together some sample bundles. They are for sale on my resurrected Fiber Fandango (Raw Materials for Fiber Artists) page where I sell the fabrics I make that I don't hoard for myself. Not much to show these days.