It's Halloween.

I pretty much sifted through all the good candy (gummy mummies, kit-kats, reese's pieces and whoppers) all week so whoever comes 'round tonight gets stuck with the B-list. I try. I really do.

At this point it's safe to say I'm blogging to make myself accountable. Feel free to tune in or out.
Here were my slack-off Sunday plans:
Walk
Yoga
Movie
Paint
Here's what I really did:
Scrubbed kitchen floor.
Scrubbed den floor.
Scrubbed most of the dining room floor.
Rearranged dining room in effort to make it into my winter studio  as opposed to the previously discussed living room studio. (The dining room gets MUCH better light than the living room, plus once I rip the wallpaper down, I will paint the walls walls. Oddly enough, ripping out wallpaper does rank as a priority on my todo list.)
Moved dining room furniture back in place.
Rearranged furniture in spare bedroom to accommodate one piece of unwanted dining room furniture and 3 chairs.
Moved easel from living room to dining room.
Moved Bazille chair from living room to dining room.
Tried to identify what I believe to be a 60 hz hum coming from center of house and attic. It's ever present, but I only notice it occasionally. I was obsessed with it today.
Brought oil paints inside.
Repainted old wooden bench thing where I keep my mobile paint bins.
Listed vintage camera gear on eBay.
Decided I am not the arts and crafts type after all and ditched Plan B for the time being.
I'm a tad freaked out at my need to scrub floors so frequently. It's not at all like me, but with rototiller dog, I don't have much of a choice.

I'm so thrilled with my new easel. Might I remind everyone I never used an easel until about 4 years ago. I've never painted an oil painting sitting in a chair either. How or why I've become so genteel in the studio is a mystery, but as seen here in two more paintings from The Birth of Impressionism Show at The Frist Center, those gents weren't pacing around slinging paint all willy nilly. And since I am in the process of reincarnating myself into a 19th c. painter, I, too, will sit at my easel this fall and winter. A gray wall. That's what I'll paint the studio wall.

A Studio in Batignolles Quarter by Henri Fantin-Latour. 1870.

Pierre-Auguste Renoir. Frédéric Bazille at His Easel. 1867

Dead Fowl. Will NOT be bringing dead fowl into the house, but I'm sure I can find a substitute around here. Dead plants, dead bugs. dead leaves, gimp furniture.

I am working, even though I do not know what I'm doing.

The two on the left and the last one on the right are in progress. The one of the far left has been in progress for a couple of months and has already transitioned through life as a pure abstraction referencing nothing, and life as a quasi- referential painting of a stump in the backyard. I had a good painting day on Thursday. I call these dejected abstractions. I trust at some point I will make large happy go lucky light and carefree work, when perhaps I am feeling largely happy lucky go light and free of care, but for now, I am enjoying the muted colors, solitary portraits, or otherwise clandestine meetings going on in this work. Did I mention I had a mouse in my studio? I saw him scamper across the floor and into the wall. This wall. The Wall of Progress. 

The Vexilologists

I don't know exactly where the flags come from but they sneak in every so often. I think of them as markers, a kind of triumphant declaration that I have been somewhere or conquered something, or perhaps they function as a sign that someone was there before me, maybe even me, in a previous incarnation. I finally will call the painting above finished, which means I will remove it from the working studio and place it in the living room viewing studio, which in all likelihood will become the winter working studio.

In progress, not yet titled.

I'm into slanted surfaces now where things could slip. I should post a better pic. I'll swap out later. Speaking of which, I also need to swap out my photos on flickr. They're too lo-res to share. 

I bet you thought I was kidding when I said I was going for the Bazille studio look. If only it worked. 

Note the Bazille studio chair. Fancy, eh? I sat in it the other day and stared at some paintings. Big news: I'd like to welcome my new easel, the Mabef M-09 to the indoor studio. It was on sale at my local Plaza art supply store. I just finished assembling it this evening while making cornbread from scratch in a cast iron skillet. I will now be able to work on small and medium size canvases when I am too much of a wimp to work in the freezing cold. I'm really happy I went with the M-09. I have the M-18 outside in the garage studio and the mast is too high for the ranch house ceilings. The M-09 clears the indoor ceiling by maybe inch. I still need to be careful. I am a big fan of Mabef. The movers bent one of my thumbscrews and Mabef sent over a new one from Italy, pronto. (It was the wrong one, but they're sending another one.) Mabef has a lifetime warranty on their easels and they're better priced than the competition. I should paint that red wall another more neutral color, but on my list of todo, it's just not that big of a deal for me. I need to paint-proof the floor though. I've become a neater painter now that I'm working small, but not that neat. Not that it matters, because for all practical purposes, I am invisible here, but that is another  story.

Oh, and about the movers. I rec'd a call from a detective up in Northern California and apparently one of the movers had my credit card number and my moving contract in his possession. I was not alone. The guy has been arrested on multiple counts of fraud. He was with Lighting Van Lines. It was a no-name van company located out of Northern California. The detective totally sounded like a detective, which ironically made me kind of suspicious. I imagined he was clean cut and wore a suit. He was pleasant though and gave me the task force website so I could double check everything.

Matt emailed me this Albert Oehlen painting from the Museum of Contemporary Art. He said it reminded him of me. Not the deer, I am assuming, but the style in which it is painted.

Step One: Admit I was powerless over facebook...

Yes, it's a great networking tool and probably the end all to receiving mass announcements of shows, but those seconds and minutes add up. I was going to deactivate the account, but couldn't pull the trigger. Part of it is due to my slump. Some banter with folks, a few likes, and posting images makes me feel somewhat connected with my network of real and almost real friends in the artworld, but it's a band-aid. I'm not sure I'd feel any different if I were living back in L.A. either. I have this feeling of watching things slip- sort of like seeing a framed painting of a ship at sea hung slightly askew and expecting the water to pour out of the frame. I thought back to when I was more prolific in the studio, and decided to ignore all the obvious stumbling blocks from the past 2 years and blame facebook instead.

And of course, I broke my vow of celibacy to share this... see next post.  But that was it. I'm clean again.

Of course moments after I declare myself invisible, I want to share this review

 27

OCT

Mary Addison Hackett – Abstracted representations on an intimate scale

Categories: Architecture + Interiors, Art + Graphics, Modern Decor + Objects

Mary Addison Hackett’s, “Fluid: Elusive Chapters from the Passage of Time (Volume 1: The Lost Months, Volume 2: Pools and Flowers)“ closes on October 31 at the Kristi Engle Gallery in Highland Park (LA, CA). 

This exhibition is a major departure for the artist as she had previously exhibited large scale paintings on canvas in her previous exhibition. Those works were bursting with activity, color contrasts and directional lines paired with a use of line quality not only to describe structure and form, but also to create worlds within worlds.

The works on display until October 31, at Kristi Engle are heavily textured with a neutralized color palette, gone are the bright yellows and reds of earlier works (except when directly referencing Mondrian, as caught in a daydream, according to the title). These are paintings of loss, a life with solid carved wood headboards working in tandem with simple dark barred windows that slice though positive space – a green plane which is interpreted as grass, interrupted by the often present empty pool.

(Above: “Sometimes I am Optimistic and Think of Mondrian”, 2010, oil on linen, 5″x7″)

These paintings ranging in size from 5″x7″ to “16×20″ are much more somber, eerily disturbing, accessible through repeated benign subject matter such as empty swimming pools, shrubs, trees and cut flowers.

(Above: “January”, 2010, oil on linen, 7” x 5”)

The colors are barely contained, the pools are utterly vacant and overgrown by mature evergreens. They burst at their boundaries and structures take on the movement of the absent water.

(Above: “Foreword”, 2008, oil on canvas, 16” x 20”)
The emptyness of the pool on several of the works are hardly contained by their representational edges. They leak, bulge and drip out. Full of feeling, lacking function, communicating emotion.
These new paintings are just as gestural as Mary Addison Hackett’s earlier works; there is an immediacy and a quickness to them. However her use of mute color shows great restraint that resonates as nostalgic, sweet, and sad.

Share 

Posted by Megan Geckler

-----------------------------------------------------------

It was nice to see someone else's thoughtful take on the show that wasn't lifted from my non-existent artist statement or the press release. Thanks Megan.

Another Bazille studio

I love that he has the same heater and the same chair in this one. I could do this look too, though I'd have to knock out my ceiling.

Kitchen Sink Post

My divorce lawyer is billing me for, and I quote: "received post card for client's art show." Kind of unbelievable, yet true. If I call to dispute that charge along with a couple of other bogus and solicited charges, she'll bill me for the call, so I'm rather f*cked. I send exhibition announcements to people in my professional network if they seem remotely interested or knowledgeable about art. I sent one to my doctor, who once came to an opening. I sent one to my accountant since I figure it is an advertising expense, and perhaps she'd like to know I'm advertising. So far, neither my doctor nor my accountant has billed me for receiving a exhibition postcard in the mail. Lawyers. Need I say more?

Yard sale was a decent success. The good news is that I can now see AND access the front door for the first time in five months. Today was supposed to be a studio day, but it rained and the studio floor flooded. Instead, I worked in the attic making room to store stuff I don't want to see anymore, yet don't want to throw out yet.  I'm not sure why there was a framed print of Napoleon in the attic, but there was. I checked eBay. Napoleon is not my ticket out of here.

I'm in a slump. I know I need to pick up my paint brushes by their little paintbrush bootstraps, but I have absolutely nothing lined up. That's not entirely true, but I'm definitely in an awkward transition period and am having a rough go of it, so I'm not fighting it. I'm trying to convince myself I like it here and I do, but not for professional reasons, and not for social reasons either. The landscape is nice here and I like the seasons. I like having a house that's not on a busy street.

It's almost time to order another easel and move the studio inside for the winter. Yes, a new easel. That's what I need.

Even a 90-minute walk in the woods did not calm be down from the lawyer thing.

I work hard for my money.

I'm behind in posts. I have a draft or two, but am too tired to finish them tonight. My yard sale did okay, but two days of setting up at the crack of dawn and breaking down and was grueling. I'll post more later, but in lieu of original content I give you highlights from the FREE STUFF on craigslist nashville.

Free Walnuts (M'Boro.)

---

Date: 2010-10-22, 11:34AM CDT
Reply to: sale-ndktn-2019762276@craigslist.org ^{[Errors when replying to ads?]}

---

Free Walnuts. Walnuts are on the ground. Easy access. You can have all you care to pick up. Thanks for looking. 

free leaves (columbia)

---

Date: 2010-10-21, 7:01PM CDT
Reply to: sale-jfh2t-2018811136@craigslist.org ^{[Errors when replying to ads?]}

---

We have a huge pile in our yard. come take some or u can have all!!! perfect for stuffing the pumpkin bags!! thanks 

GREASE FOR YOUR HOGS (GOODLETTSVILLE)

---

Date: 2010-10-23, 3:18PM CDT
Reply to: sale-vq6tk-2021944483@craigslist.org ^{[Errors when replying to ads?]}

---

ANYBODY WANT SOME USED FRYER GREASE WITH CORNMEAL AND OTHER CRUNCHIES IN IT TO FATEN YOUR HOGS. WOULD BE GREAT TO MIX WITH CORN FEED. JUST THOUGHT I WOULD SEE IF THERE WAS ANY INTEREST. EMAIL BACK IF YOU WANT IT. 

----

I'll be back with original material next week. 

It's 5pm. The sky has not changed color all day.

Thus far, my day has consisted of:
Getting worked up over a mission statement for a group I've decided not to participate in, that contained the phrase, "...with a goal to provide an alternative venue for artists free from the constraints of the retail market." Don't get me started. I already wrote a rant. It's not directed at anyone, but in it I pick apart, "constraints of the retail market." The economy is tanking, unemployment rate is 9.6% or 14.8 million here in the U.S., and project spaces are worried about the "constraints of the retail market"? Seriously, do not get me started.

• Trying to document my latest painting with and without a tripod, with and without studio lighting, with and without scanning, and then finally realizing that I still am in need of tweaking a portion of the painting. grrrrr.
• ebay, research and prep for auctions. Trying to simplify my life, 99 cents at a time. Sheds a whole new light on "another day, another dollar."
• ichat with tech support.
• Petting the dog & reassuring him that he was a good dog in that silly, who's a good dog? voice I use.
• Raking the kitchen floor after the dog came in the house.
• Afternoon espresso. sucked down and barely enjoyed.

 It doesn't help that I've had to take some medicine with the following side effects: 

• nervousness
• restlessness
• anxiety
• difficulty falling asleep or staying asleep
• nightmares or abnormal dreams
• not trusting others or feeling that others want to hurt you
• hallucinations (seeing things or hearing voices that do not exist)

-which means that when I wake up in the middle of the night, the first thing I am aware of is that I still have poison ivy and I want to claw my arm off. 

• My yard sale is this weekend and I still have to wash the second, third, and forth batch of dishes and price everything.
• I got busted for not paying my Culver City business taxes, mainly because I never applied for a Culver City business license, mainly because my studio was not located in a business district. I weighed the option of getting busted for having a studio at home vs. getting busted for not securing a license and took my chance. They tracked me down, and five months and 2000 miles later, I owe some cash. That would be why the call it the long arm of the law, I suppose. The fines were doubled, times 3 years. It could have been worse. It could have been better, too. This is why I do not like to sell work out of the studio. Too much of a hassle. I haven't looked into my options here. I'm hoping to find a middleman, affectionately known as a dealer, so I don't have to. 
• Sometimes, I think I'd like to write poetry and call it a day. 

five pm it is
the sky has not changed color
I am restless

I am so into brushstrokes right now, I can hardly contain myself.

But so far, it's all in my head, because remember, I'm in quiet time/research mode. I went to see the Birth of Impressionism show at the Frist Center yesterday, a collection of masterpieces from the Museé d'Orsay. When I first started thinking about flowers about a year or so ago, my friend Cole pointed me to Manet's flowers. According to Google, it seemed as though many of Manet's flowers were located in the Museé d'Orsay, and I wasn't sure I'd ever see one in person. Not only does the Frist not allow photography of any kind, but they have guards that look like they'll take you down just for thinking about sneaking a pic. I have been stealth in the past, but this would require an elaborate ruse, such as switching out my cell phone with the audio tour gear, and considering I wanted a close-up of the brushstrokes, I went with  Plan B: mentally recording all the brushstrokes in the exhibit. I got about two square inches of a Cézanne and an inch or two of a Pissarro locked in my brain before coming inundated with painterly information. At that point, I had to move along, telling myself I'd come back. Some highlights:

Bazille, "Bazille's Studio"

I liked this Bazille primarily because I liked Bazille's studio. He has a wood burning stove. I, too, have a wood burning stove in my studio, but my insurance agent nearly had a conniption when I mentioned I may try and hook it up for heat. Bazille also has much better lighting than I do thanks to the frigging ginormous window. We also have similar furniture. I could do this look on a smaller scale, but so far, I'm still rocking the Pollock rustic barn look.

I added another light in the studio today and installed a work table. I don't know if I want a couch in the studio-seems like it would be a big party house for spiders.

Manet, "Flowers in a Crystal Vase" 

Even museums Photoshop their paintings. In person, this painting of Manet's flowers is much more faded, less contrasty, and the vase is almost as impressive, if not more so, than the flowers.

Cézanne, "The Hanged Man's House"

Totally caked-up, gunky paint. Go Cézanne.

Pissaro, "Path through the Woods, Summer"

Again, totally caked-up, gunky paint. Go Pissarro. When I go back, I'm going to scrutinize for dog or cat hairs.

Cézanne, "Self-Portrait with pink Background"

I feel a self-portrait coming on.

"Your profile pic is scaring me! Some sort of cross between Chelsea Clinton, a troll doll, and the Black Hole Sun video."

Every woman loves to be told they look like a troll. I am not photogenic when I smile. Thank God I'm not a troubled teenager. Facebook really does bring out the best in people, does it not? 


Last night I blew out a small portion of the house of the house after plugging in my rewiring project. The den, I understand, since this is where I plugged the lamp in. The porch I also understand since it is adjacent to the den. The far side of the kitchen and the hall lights, I have no clue as to why they were affected since they are totally separate. I had to trek out to Home Depot for fuses at 9:15 last night. Kroger, nor Walgreens sold fuses. The clerks thought I meant automobile fuses. I successfully swapped out the blown fuses, and then for some odd reason, the living room went dark. I unscrewed the living room fuses and screwed them back in, and all was well. I surmise there is all sorts of dark matter generating through the electrical currents in this house, perhaps even a hidden Universe.


I joined The Frist just in time to see The Birth of Impressionism. It opens today. I may treat myself to a catalog. This afternoon, I will finish up the mega dish washing. I feel like I need some quiet time to think about the next body of work. Sometimes I paint in my head to get a feel for what it will be like. I don't mean I plan out a painting in my head, I mean, I actually try and get a feel for the brushstrokes. 

I am not a flower painter.

I usually don't like to share my low moods, but I am waiting for my fingers to unshrivel and I'm feeling a bit Cinderella-ish. I have committed to having a yard sale next weekend, one where I will be selling off 18 large boxes of kitchen items and a eye-popping assortment of other things. The 18 large boxes of kitchen items have been stored in cabinets undisturbed for 40+ years. At some point the exhaust fan in the kitchen became a decorative fixture. I still do not know if it works. All I know is that there are 18 boxes of grimy dishes and glassware needing a good washing before my yard sale. I have no dishwasher. No, actually I do, but it is also a decorative object as far as I know. Hence the shriveled fingers. I should wear gloves.

I am not a flower painter.
I'm sinking into oblivion here. Or perhaps, further, I should say. I sense a gap, a small crack if you will. One where I believe I have fallen. In reply to a question, (and I'll be very vague) the answer was, "I can't see such and such showing flower paintings."

My first thought was Allison Schulnik who shows at Mark Moore in Santa Monica. I've never met Alison, but I've seen quite a bit of her work and wouldn't call her a flower painter, yet, below I give you a flower painting.

Allison Schulnik, Red Flowers #2, 2008, o/c, 20 x16"

Here is another of Allison's images:

Allison Schulnik, Jimmy, 2009

, oil on linen

16 x 26"

I wouldn't call her a clown painter either. 

Below are most of my flower paintings to date. I've posted them before, so just move along if you're tired of seeing them. One looks suspiciously like a pool painting, but it's really a hybrid; the background is the filler you would find in a flower arrangement.

Carnation

Comic Relief

Art Deco Chinese Rug

January

Night Swim

Slight of Hand

I don't think my friend was insulting me when they made the flower painting remark, but it made me rethink how people, including artists or dealers, think about certain imagery and assume there to be certain baggage with said imagery.  Let's take barns, for instance. I read a comment from someone who jokingly, but probably not by much, wished there would never be another landscape with barn painting exhibited in Tennessee. After reading that, of course, I want to make dysfunctional barn paintings as a subversive activity. Then what? I'd be a crappy barn painter, too? (Note: I really do have soft spot for good barn paintings- I juried one into a watercolor show, based on the sentimental factor.)

The good news is that I said fuck it and bought a new liner for my motorcycle helmet. I was convinced the old one was a minefield of urushiol and no amount of washing was going to make it go away. So for 29 bucks, it's like I have a new helmet. Cool. The guy at the motorcycle shop even gave me the spare face visor from his personal helmet, noting that mine was seriously trashed. He told me he was a father-to-be and therefore was giving up riding for awhile. I admit to worrying if Otto could find food and water if God forbid I didn't make it home one day, but I suspect he would fill up on base molding and find a toilet before perishing, and so I still ride.

At some point, I promptly went out to the studio and de-representationalized 2 paintings, once again setting into motion the evil pendulum from which I now swing. After that, I began the humble task of dish washing about 400 dishes and glasses. 

Every now and then I imagine I am homesteading. Then I imagine true homesteaders would be up in arms.

My tomato crop (4 plants) yielded two (2) super ass lame tomatoes. I'm almost embarrassed to call myself a Southerner. I killed a hydrangea and two gardenia plants from neglect. While bushwhacking I caught poison oak or ivy and am certain I transferred the urushiol onto the chin strap of my motorcycle helmet. I finally took the liner out yesterday and thoroughly washed it, dousing the chin strap in Tecnu®. Sap is covering my car because my studio is my garage. I would suck at true homesteading. I would also suck at bomb squad duty. I am rewiring a lamp. It looked easy enough until I got to the part where I'm supposed to tell the difference between the hot and the neutral wire. No can do. There are no ridges, and for the life of me they are the same color. I've been invited to a friend's studio tonight. There will be chili and everyone will be casually be working on their own thing. I'm bringing some watercolors to work on. I may break down and bring the lamp.

Until I install proper lighting, I have placed table lamps in strategic places in the studio. Cozy, yes, and I am only a handful of bulbs shy of having the entire house, inside and out, on energy saving bulbs. Yesterday, while at Lowe's®, I almost bought a shop light but couldn't figure out the difference between the $10 lamp and the $14 lamp. Normally, I'd opt for the obviously cheap one without further ado, but I asked the guy with the name tag and smart uniform what the difference was. He stated the obvious- four dollars. Aside from that, he said one took a larger bulb- another rather brilliant observation— and just in case I was totally blind, he pointed out that one had a black hood, and the other had a white hood. I dug a little deeper for the difference between the larger bulb and smaller bulb, but nope, no real difference. Sensing I was having a hard time making up my mind, he all but laughed and said he had the $10 lamp at home, and it worked just fine. He moved on. I am a label reader. I scoured the box for anything informative and noticed the black one had an electronic ballast and the white one, a magnetic ballast. Unfortunately there was no information stating what this really meant, and and I didn't want to suffer through an answer like, "one's electronic and the other isn't," so I walked back to the paint department to pick up my can of something-close-to-ceiling-white to touch up a patch on the bedroom ceiling. I don't mean to be hyper critical, but after googling the terms electronic ballast and magnetic ballast and immediately finding this, it seems a home improvement store might want to point out that the electronic ballast is more energy efficient and cost less to operate. Seriously. Lowe's get points for being less crowded, and having the cheaper unit, but it's twice as far of a drive as Home Depot®, so not sure where I will be buying my shop light. I do need better lighting in my studio though.

My lighting is all over the place.

My view every morning when I have coffee. Not sure about the warm lighting.

Ambient lighting in the studio. 

I think I am done with this one. Damn, that means it needs a title, pronto.

No, upon further inspection, I am not finished with it. I need to tweak the color behind the Shriner-Treeman and Fake Cousin Itt's hair. I am loathe to admit I concern myself with such pedestrian formalist matters, but I do. And for the record, that's not really a Shriner or Cousin Itt.

I am still working on this one, I think. If not, it was a really quick painting, and you know how I feel about those.

Happy Birthday Process!

Woo-hoo! An anniversary! October 10th, 2005, marked my first post. My initial intent was to document my process as an artist. No, that's not quite true. My intent was that the blog would serve as a document of the artwork I made as a result of that process, i.e., a picture blog with a few sentences posted under each finished painting or artwork, more or less briefly describing my thought process as it related to the work. A mini-statement, if you will. (A plan, I might add, that had I stuck with, would have bailed me out of the recent statement fiasco of 2010.) A mere twelve days later marked my first pity party post where I let my guard down: I had broken a toe while training for a marathon and received two rejection letters in one day. It was also in this post that I revealed, that on occasion, I have doubts and insecurities, and that as confident as I think I am, I do, in fact, relish questioning my capabilities and admit to being a sensitive artist. Five years later, I still like to question my capabilities and I am still a sensitive artist. But other than that, much has changed in five years.

Then: Lived and worked in Culver City, California
Now: Live and work in Nashville, Tennessee
Then: Worried a lot about if I would ever have another show.
Now: Worry a little about whether I will ever have another show.
Then: Obsessive and copious amount of works on paper, large paintings.
Now: Smaller paintings, prone to being obsessively detailed.
Then: Fear of impasto
Now: Love impasto
Then: Team Fang & Fife
Now: Otto
Then: Abstraction, Technicolor palette
Now: Landscape? Figures? Colors from Nature? Abstraction?
Then: Married, Adjunct Art Faculty
Now: Single, Speed reading, "What Color is Your Parachute?"

And so forth and so on. The blog still serves as an archive of what I was thinking or doing- who I was on a particular date. I don't revisit the posts except if I'm trying to remember something- like what events might have triggered a painting, or see what a painting looked like before it transmogrified before my very eyes.

Some other things have changed- some good, some difficult, some challenging. There's also a realization that life is short, and it's never too late. I should really hook up the nice stereo system and sell the uncomfortable sofa, soon.

The blog knows all.
Happy Birthday Process.

After I finish this post.

I am seconds away from downloading Anti-Social, essentially a firewall for social networking sites. I thrive on social networking and not just for the banter. I love seeing what other artists (okay, especially painters) are doing, and I love reading essays and reviews about art, (okay, especially painting) that prompt me think about ideas that are new and exciting, or simply ground me if I am lost.  Tricky, if I'm really working though, because all it takes it's a nanosecond of lag time for an application to open and I'll quickly sneak over to fb or twitter to hang out by the water cooler. Often it takes the whirring sound of my Activity Monitor to remind me I have Aperture or Photoshop needing my undivided attention for my original task at hand. Like now, for instance. I'm officially beginning my non-art side project of selling collectibles and vintage items on ebay. To call it non-art is convenient, but possibly untrue, because since reading Alan Kaprow's book, Essays on the Blurring of Art and Life, and my foray into documenting my life as art during grad school, everything is potentially art if I proceed to think about it in terms of art. This, of course, is distracting when all I'm trying to do is clear out the house and make a buck. As is facebook and twitter, which is why I'm downloading Anti-social, just as soon as I post this.

My show is going on it's 3rd week. I have the audio file of my artist talk where I reveal the secret of my universe. I have not had a chance to listen to it. I will post excerpts or perhaps the whole talk depending on how monotonous it is after it is transcribed. I am still hoping to distill a statement or at least an essay out of it. Um, never mind. Painfully inaudible.

Recently, an artist told me paintings of dogs sell. I laughed. Then I laughed again later when I realized it might actually be true.

"Overlooking the Clouds Sea (Fang Corners a Crow in the Backyard)

"

Meanwhile, I'm still hung up on trees and the quest for unadulterated abstraction.

Ta-da. I finished a watercolor sketchbook.

And it only took me 77 months. And the really pathetic thing is that since it was a Moleskine watercolor book, it only had 35 pages. It was specifically for plein air painting, but again, I am a cheat, so it also contained sketches of furniture, a lackluster hot dog, and even one, totally abstract painting I did to look busy at the only sidewalk art fair I will probably ever do, but never say never.  To be fair, I also had a smaller notebook which I used on trips. But overall, no, I did not do much watercolor sketching over the last 3 years. Pang of sadness when I came across the anniversary watercolors from a trip to Two Bunch Palms in 2007. One of the drawbacks of documenting your life as an artist- very few stones left unturned.

I have poison (ivy, sumac,or oak) again, and this time it's back with a vengeance. It's on my neck and throat. Don't ask. Just assume it's a jungle out there and I was on a kamikaze mission to bushwhack overgrown foliage. Obviously I think I know what poison ivy looks like, I googled it  twice this summer, yet I've had a mild reaction every time I've done yard work since moving here.  So here I sit, for all practical purposes, looking as though I wore a scarf made of poison ivy. Sadly, this obstinate trait, and possibly the allergy is inherited. My mother kept calamine lotion on hand and talked about getting poison (ivy, sumac or oak) whenever she did yard work. I bought a new bottle of calamine lotion. There was an unopened box of Burt's Bee's poison ivy soap in the cabinet.

I'm a little sad today, but I shouldn't be. I celebrated 6 years of sobriety today. My mom used to email on the 5th of every month telling me how proud she was of me, but then she forgot how to use email, so she would call. The last few months before she died, she forgot to call. A couple of close friends remembered and called to say hello. Later the Fed Ex truck arrived with a surprise box of chocolates and a note that said "Welcome Home Sweetheart," and congratulated me on my paintings and my show. I have a few amazing friends that I've had for a very long time. I shouldn't be sad, I hope I can be half as thoughtful to others as people have been to me.

Large Shrub by Street, 8" x 5," gouache on paper

I downloaded Google Earth. I have coordinates, which thanks to Carla, will be featured in the titles, or on the backs,  but will not be publishing these on the Interschnitzel. And once again, I'm inside, looking out or I suppose I could be outside looking in. Makes ya wonder.

My first real fall in almost 23 years.

I feel like I just fell off the turnip truck. It's like I've never seen bare trees, leaves fall, or afternoon sunlight through a cloudy sky. 

Tree, View from Utility Room, 8" x 5," watercolor and gouache on paper

It was chilly yesterday. I cheated and stayed inside for yesterday's plein air painting. I double cheated, because I worked some more on it today. A plein aire purist, I am not. I was simultaneously doing laundry. Below the shutters is my washer and dryer. My goal is to paint every tree in my yard. If I can figure out accurate GPS coordinates, I think I will title them by their GPS coordinates. In the likely event I lose interest in such an elaborate titling ruse, I'll just name them something obvious.

In case you were wondering, this blog is just my diary that I left on the bus or something.

It's fall! It's fall! Fall news alert: I have added tofu chili to the fall menu. I may have mentioned that left to my own devices, I am perfectly content eating the same thing over and over again. Case in point, my summer menu selection for dining at home:
Yogurt (vanilla or peach)
Banana
Pimento cheese
Hummus
Saltines
Tomato sandwich on white bread
Soy cheese sandwich
Once a week, (usually on Sunday) I cooked: vegan quiche, made from scratch.
Once a month I bought a nice frozen pizza.
I think I made a salad 3 or 4 times.

Prior to that my L.A. menu for almost 2 years consisted of the following:
Oatmeal with raisins, bananas, cranberries and soy milk
Baked potato with soy butter
Once a week (usually on Sunday) I might order a pizza.

Oh sure, I've sucked down a chess pie here and there, but otherwise, it's standard fare.
So, yes it's a big deal to introduce the tofu chili to the fall menu.
I still have an espresso at 2pm sharp every day.

I came across a blog called daily routines. I like routine. Routine and structure work for me.
Love this one on Mr. Rogers.

I worked on watercolors today- tweaked 2 of yesterday's, and started a new plein air. It was cold today. The garage studio is going to be a challenge this winter. The garage is not sealed tight nor insulated. One of the garage doors is damaged and has a gap between the panels, meaning open air access. I painted in the utility room, standing up, using the washer and dryer as my table.  I painted the view outside the window. It felt good to wake up and paint. It's been a while since I pulled out the watercolors. If I had an ideal studio space, and if the house were in perfect order, I would probably never put my brush down. Painting has become a seamless activity like eating or opening the refrigerator door when I think I'm hungry that I almost didn't even notice I had set up and started painting. I didn't want to put it down, but as I said yesterday, with watercolor, you have to pull out and either call it done or wait until it dries. Later, I was lazy and painted on the counter by the kitchen sink. Today was a good painting day. Works on paper, I have missed you.
I have a sneaky feeling I may use the cold as an excuse to paint inside this winter. I have 4 canvases working out in the garage studio, and I need to complete them. They're barely started.

Yesterday's plein air, reworked. Untitled tree, 8" x 5", watercolor and gouache on paper.  

I like trees. I'm not ready to title my plein air paintings, I'm going to jump on the affordable art bandwagon and offer my plein airs up for sale. email me with a bid.

Plein air Saturday afternoon. Gallery hopping Nashville evening.

From my favorite watercolor site, Handprint:
Instead I found that commercial plastic spaghetti containers, the kind available in many kitchen supply stores, make superb brush containers (shown at right is my preference, The Click Clack. Three or four cardboard cylinders (from toilet paper or paper towels) cut to the right length will hold the brushes upright, and no bug can ever get in. Pasta containers can hold almost any brush, even the leggy Winsor & Newton Series 7 #10's.

I spent one hour pacing the house looking for my watercolor brushes. The ones I use all the time. The nice ones. They were rolled up in in a bamboo mat. I was positive I had seen them and unpacked them within the last 3 months, but I have not done any watercolor since arriving, so I was racking my brain for where I had seen them last. I was prepared to take the plein air challenge and decided to ease into it again with watercolors, my plein air medium of choice.
Finally, leaving no stone unturned, I looked under a box of contractor bags in the dining room studio. Voilá.

I grabbed my canvas tote, sketchbook, paints and mason jar of water,  and picked a nice spot I had scoped out 1.5 hours earlier. I spent about an hour outside painting a treescape. A neighbor stopped by while walking her dog and said hello. I'll shave 15 minutes off painting time for convo and maybe another 5 minutes for set-up. I prefer to sit on a blanket and paint. I have a french half easel, but I prefer the blanket. I'll tweak the painting a bit more later. The thing with watercolor is you only have a small window of working time before you make it muddy or dull from overworking it. As soon as it's about halfway dry you have to cut your losses and pull out.

I went to the downtown art crawl this evening. Parking downtown is $10. That's a bit pricey if you ask me, but I just moved from a bankrupt state, so what do I know.

Whitney Wood Bailey at The Rymer Gallery

Whitney Wood Bailey at The Rymer Gallery

Carol Es at Tinney Contemporary

Carol Es and MJP

Inside the Arcade

Live painting in the Arcade

Sound Crawl 

Ron Buffington at Twist annex, curated by Jerry Dale McFadden

Mark Bradley-Shoup at Twist annex, curated by Jerry Dale McFadden

Joseph Lupo at Twist

A masked, Beth Gilmore at Twist

Once again, I surprised myself by stepping out, seeing some friendly faces and having a pleasant time. I need to figure out the parking thing though. I got used to free and easy parking for almost 10 years. Don't harsh my mellow, Nashville. I'm also riding my motorcycle for errands now, especially grocery shopping. Not too crazy about riding at night. Much darker here, and natch, I think no one here can drive. Twice I've seen a car veer into my lane and swerve back barely avoiding a head-on collision with me. I wish cell phones could be mysteriously sucked out of people's idiot little hands while they drive. Like maybe there's a sensor built into the steering wheel that will shoot a death ray beam to a cell phone when it senses the driver loses eye contact with the road. Just think about it. I'm sure it's feasible.

Mary Addison Hackett on The Front Yard