It’s Done!

I just returned from a trip to the local cable office where I left off the beloved Moxie box and a standard digital receiver. No more cable. No more triple digit TV bills per month.

We bought a fine little Dell laptop and hooked it up with the big HDTV as a second monitor. We easily watched everything we ever watched but with far less commercial interruption.

This will cut down on the drone TV watching and the MSNBC addiction. I feel lighter already.

There is not enough space in my head to allow all that yacking.

All I’m going to miss out on is Sarah Palin shite and Republican destruction derby. It’s just too sad to watch pompous assholes wave the flag of deevolution.

Stars

I like stars. They look so good from so far away. They may be, at our sighting, light that has just now passed through our universe. The source may have transformed into some other type of energy.

One day last summer I was thunderstruck  by a desire to  have some color on my upper arm. I wanted a brownish red star and got one, more or less.

I think it could use a second infusion of color. I’m not sure the artist knew about the circular color application technique.

I made a curly star stamp before I chose permanent symbol for my bod.

I’m really taken with the curly star. I decided to create a plush version.

Here is the star in it’s “Mighty Star” pose.

It looks like it’s flexing it’s starry muscles.

I have toyed with the idea of putting eyes and a mouth on them but I’m not there yet. I think I may try it on a smaller model. This prototype measures about 23″ x 18″.

The star looks different at every angle. You can rotate his position and he becomes something new with a different feel.

The red star looks less macho like this, as if it’s floating happily. Wee!

We had the distinct pleasure yesterday of getting to know Yayoi Kusama! A DVD docu on Kusama arrived. It was really really interesting.

She is amazing. I wouldn’t be surprised to find that Yoko Ono was influenced by this amazing Japanese artist.

To call Kusama prolific is a grand understatement.

If you are an artist dealing with the dwindling stores of energy as you grow older you should take heart from Kusama’s example.

Here is an interview with Yayoi Kusama.

Marla Leaves Etsy

I had high hopes. I wanted the hats to work. I wanted the public to embrace Marla but it wasn’t to be. At least not on Etsy.

My big hat opening day got no response. Months later I decided maybe Marla was too much for most people. They didn’t understand her beauty, so rough, so German Expressionist.

Not only did I not sell hats. My sales of other things dried up almost completely.

I removed all the listings with Marla stylings last evening. This morning I had sold two things.

Coincidence? I think not.

I love you, Marla.

Fire the Makeup Artist

I like some TV. Especially when a show is well written, entertaining and has a really good cast. The Mentalist is one of those shows.

The first season was great. The second season?

I have a bone to pick with the person who hired the rogue makeup artist and then allowed the to go nuts with the female cast members.

WTF?

I am confident that the hideous make up jobs are the first thing noticed by anyone watching the show.

The makeup person is seems to have been beamed in from another decade judging by the Joan Crawford eyebrows, the blue eye shadow, the bright  orange and red lipsticks and rouge. It is deeply distracting and disturbing.

Could it be my HDTV? Maybe I just didn’t notice the horrible makeup on my old TV. I don’t think that’s it.

The girls, Robin Tunney and Amanda Righetti, also got new school hairdos. They look like they are all ready for their first day of elementary school. That’s another clash. Infantile hairdos do not go with Joan Crawford makeup!  What is with this really crazy shit?

The show has lots of interesting outdoor locations. The makeup looks even worse in the sunlight.

Something has to be done.

If only I could get a letter to Tunney and Righetti. Their careers are being ruined by this hack makeup person(s).

Sesame Street 40th Anniversary

Jim Henson was lucky.

His strange puppet thing fell into place so sweetly when it joined forces with Sesame Street.

The fortieth anniversary of the show was the occasion for a really cool NPR’s Fresh Air today.

Jim Henson had mentioned, in correspondence with friends, that at his funeral he’d like certain songs played.

Caroll Spinney, enlivener of Big Bird, attended Henson’s  goodbye in costume and sang It’s Not Easy Being Green. Let yourself imagine that and there will be tears.

I learned today from Terry Gross’s Fresh Air was that one of the songs Henson mentioned was Lydia the Tattooed Lady.

If you do not know this song get thee to a showing of The Philadelphia Story. Rent it from Netflix. Go there now. They have a fabulous trailer that will sell you.

Brave New Cave

Did you know that Nick Cave wrote another novel? It’s about a traveling salesman and his son. You can buy an audio book through iTunes.

His first, And the Ass Saw the Angel,   was published in 1989, written while he lived in Berlin.

The latest is The Death of Bunny Monroe. I almost bought it. Maybe I will someday but I’d rather write one myself.

I am full of aspiration.

This little button of Nick Cave photographs so well. It is nestled here in some moss. There is a rusty nail and a tiny dark heart adjacent to the button. I like to compose.

One of my first aspirations was interior design. Does anyone hire someone to make there home look as if a crazy artist lives there?

I’ve got a DVD of  interior designer Thom Filicia (isn’t that a wonderful name for the adorable Taurus?).

In the Vogue Living interior on his site there is an amazing silver chair. There is also a chaise lounge. I want one.

Here is a really cool lamp I picked up at the thrift shop. I love the flames. they remind me somehow of Tibetan imagery. It’s brass and very heavy. It’s perfect for the spot on the fireplace skirt. Kitty can’t knock it over.

Cost: $10.

I like this picture with the beige chair from my living room makeover. I like the things that you can see in the mirror.

I am enjoying a cup of mostly decaf coffee. I bought decaf Medaglia de Oro.I dumped a bit of chocolate flavored coffee into the can to give it a bit of caffeine. Buzz.

I am making fresh Bitty Pix today to fill out my display box that I will take to the Shasta Arts Council Holiday Sale.

The box is all watched over by Afro-clad Marla and Zombie Kitty.

I bought a bottle of Beeswax Orange oil to put on this little shelf. I want to make it look great.

Bootsy Collins is on the top shelf.

You can see another – Green Bootsy- down below in the full box picture.

Yes, that is Fozzy Bear.

I made a new Mayan Bitty Pix.

And a butterfly.

These are fairly big Bitty Pix 2″x3″ and 2.5″x2.5″.

I really like making these. I once had a second Etsy shop for my Bitty Pix but I gave up on it.

I think I will put a few up at DarcyArts.

The photos will have to be much better. It’s a gray day.

The rain is coming to the north land. The veggies are giving their last and slowing down, turning yellowish. I have more chives than I’ll ever use. Can I make chive potato soup?

 

 

 

 

Oh, man!

Okay, I give.

No more heavy lifting. I have managed to get to a task I’ve been dreaming of for months. I’ve taken 99 percent of the dinosaur computer parts out of closets and set them out in the car port!!It looks like such a small pile but it was heavy.

The gigantic monitors will have to wait until Frank can help me schlep then out there with the other things.

The next step is into the car trunk and off to city recycle.

I started a living room redo a few days ago and I guess I just got carried away. I threw some pink covers over our not that attractive chairs. It looks a little nutty but I’ll try it for a while.

I dismantled the white bookshelf that used to bug me. I sawed it in half and put it under the stereo shelf to store the vinyl and the CDs.

Those white things are styrofoam pieces to keep kitty from sharpening his claws in the floor speakers.  It would mean the guillotine if he were ever successful.

The pix are a bit blurry but this is a dark room. Especially so with the privacy screen I’ve constructed to separates my work space from the “sitting area”. The screen is really the cardboard box from our HD TV.

Frank is off in San Francisco touring the museums on free Tuesday.

For $17 he gets a trip to the city with other Shasta College Art students.

I am not jealous. I’m really happy that he’s out having these experiences.

I loved going to school. He’s into it now. He also loves San Francisco. He lived there for years. It is the city where we met.

One of the side effects of watching Home  channel TV is the pervasive dissatisfaction it engenders with my decorative skills.

As I’ve said before, I am a cheap skate and these days for good reason. The car is at the repair shop again. My measly retirement dollars are dwindling. Rent is up. I’m not selling much in my Etsy shop. I feel great but definitely cheap.

In the living room redo I rearranged the books on the built-in bookshelf.

I put my decorated votive candles on the top shelf.

I just couldn’t look at one more shelf of books.

They look pretty good up there.

You can’t see any of the fine details.  Visitors won’t be able to enjoy the cool Elvis job or the controversial Michael Jackson design.

I may find another medium for these glitter glue, water color, Mod Podge pieces. I like them.

Maybe I’ll take the Elvis and Michael Jackson candles to the Shasta Arts Council’s holiday sale and ask an outrageous price for them. That way they probably get to take them home after the holidays and if not, well, I can use the cash.

We have too many books. When I find cheap books full of wonderful things I have to take them home. I guess at one point I thought my kids would read them but they found their own books.

I could save them for when I can do nothing but sit and read, say if I became crippled but i think I’d still prefer to do art someway, somehow.

I think I’m liking the pink chairs.It makes me feel that my living room matches my Etsy shop.

Color, color color!

Would Emily of Black Apple feel comfortable here if I invited her for a cup of tea? She is the queen of good blogging for your craft. Her aesthetic is so very cohesive. I am a little jealous.

I’d invite Heather Louise. Her dolls are superb and her portraits are dreamy.

Of course, I’d invite Amy Abshire Reyes, too.

This close up captured the Woodstock Bob photo. Bob was glowingly beautiful at this point. I imagine him happy with Sarah and their children. Why couldn’t all those crazy fools leave them alone?You can also see the cover of one of my favorite Los Lobos album La Pistola y El Corazon.

The painting is by artist George Yepes. Really, really mighty. A color master.

Okay enough reveling in my newly redesigned space. I’m off to get my car.

If I invited you to tea would you come over? Lynda Barry, would you?

 

When the Time Comes

11.1.09

Moon in Aries

The morning after a Halloween party excursion finds me just right back to feeling most comfortable in my own little nest. Even though CB’s home is exceedingly beautiful, small but loaded with loveliness, a real work of art like everything she does, I do not want what I do not have (Sinead O’Connor).

Daylight savings time ended early this morning. We’ll be tired, to bed and up even earlier than we had been all summer. It will actually be the same time but, to the world, we’ll be very early birds or will we be early worms?

I can be obsessed by interior design. It is one of the things I have always wanted to “do”. I have a great opportunity to do a room here at DarcyArts world.

The living room really needs help.

I was all gung ho thinking about, imagining a rich beautiful tile existing beneath the crappy rug there. On closer in spection it is really old tile dark brown with some not that attractive beige streaking. Could it be from the 40s? I think it is possible.

I am worried about taking up the carpet, crappy or not. Will it cost me in the end? It really depends on how long I live here. And there is another puzzle.

At this point in time I have no concrete vision of my future. I love that because I can get freaked out if I feel I am leading a predictable life.

The acceptable way of functioning says I should absolutely be married to a path at this point in my life. I should have all or nearly all of my ducks in a row. I should own things bigger and more valuable than a guitar amp, a couple of cobbled together workbenches and a closet full of comfortable clothes.

I think I’ve always felt more akin to the dharma bum life. I trust the light to provide sustenance. I truly believe “you can’t fall off the mountain”.

I would venture to say that all the people at last night’s party had lots of ducks and have spent their whole lives making rows and rows and rows. There were ginormous battleships of SUV lining the streets out side the glittering house.

People were costumed in many ways. 100% fake hippy was the most popular costume for prominent couples. Often Halloween costumes represent the skin we desire to slip into temporarily.

How would it feel to be all about LOVE and non-materialism? How would it feel to laze about and smoke pot and listen to music all day?

How would it feel to be a witch observing the seasons and aligning oneself with spirit?

Or Dog the Bounty Hunter, living a bleached-blonde life, high on adrenalin and testosterone accompanied by your big-tittied wife?

It was so pleasant to sit with Frank outside on CB’s well-groomed, artfully engineered patio. The stars were out. The moon was nearly full. We watched the people talk to one another.

I wondered after a while if I had been accidentally invited, just a name in a bank of contacts. The email sent out en mass.

We didn’t stay long. Long enough though for me to really feel the need to get to my living room makeover project and then that extra second more to ask myself why I shouldn’t just get rid of everything extraneous under my always temporary roof. I want to  be ready when the time comes to fly.

Dear Landlord

Morning pages 10.31.09*

John Cale’s tinkling piano was a great addition to the sound that the Velvet Underground dragged out of the factory and into the consciousness of all deep thinking musicians.

John Cale, Pisces two, somehow the weaker. Weaker? I love the cello, the violin, the drone.

Left alone, I don’t sense the depth but everybody has a part to play.

I am awake and I have done my 10 miles on the fakebike after a couple of days off. Virus made my body achy and fatigued but not too bad.

Today Frank and I will go to Colleen Barry’s Halloween party. Time has worked things around so that the artist I’ve admired most in Redding has invited me to a gathering.

Beings of light and the powers that be have sent energy through time and here I am on the receiving end.

The sun is shining, I’m in my work space by the windows, looking out on the yard, listening to Lou Reed sing Heroin cuz I am tuned in to all the Velvets songs on my iPod. It’s a good morning.

“I’ll be your mirror,” sings Nico. “Please put down your hands, cuz I see you.”

I am waiting for iTunes to load up a new version of something. I just wanted to import the Velvets third and most holy album to my nano. I wait.

Earlier, I danced down the walkway outside the house while listening to I’m Waiting for My Man, a little double stepping to come down from the fakebike high, sloowly.

There are certain things we assume these days about staying alive. We assume that money is essential. We assume that we must go to work in exchange for money. We aren’t providing for our own needs. We aren’t growing everything we eat. We have been largely driven away from the agrarian format. We accept a lot of middle men in our lives.

“I’m waiting for my middle man.”

“Dear Landlord, please don’t take away my ____.” My what? Can’t remember Bob’s line. John Wesley Harding is a good LP. It’s been a long time.

Oh, no. It’s “please don’t put a price on”  something. On what?

Google, memory’s middle man, will help me out.

 

Oh, yeah “Dear landlord, please don’t put a price on my soul.” How could I forget? That’s what I’m taking about.

*Please forgive my self-indulgence. I’m trying out Julia Cameron’s free write experiment. This is my first day.

Taking It Easy

I think after years of driving myself relentlessly to make, make make, I am actually succeeding in chilling out.

I am reading Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way, a book I bought after Kathy Mattea recommended it during an interview I must have done in 2006. I can’t believe it was that long ago but it was.

I wanted to start doing the morning pages but had to take Frank to school and catch up on errands. The car has been out of commission since Friday.

Morning pages is a free writing exercise that Cameron says will free the artist of the crap in the mind so that we can open up to the material flowing from the source. It’s meant to be a slow murder of our internal editor. She calls it the censor. Cool, I say.

The thing is, I already write my dreams out first thing in the morning and I blog as much as possible. That’s a lot of scribbling. Still I’d like the freedom to just write anything.

When I first read about the morning pages I was kind of attitudinal.

Julia Cameron writes:

“Living in a small adobe house that looked north to Taos Mountain, I began a practice of writing morning pages. Nobody told me to do them. I had never heard of anybody doing them. I just got the insistent, inner sense that I should do them and so I did. I sat at a wooden table looking north to Taos Mountain and I wrote.”

My response, scribbled back in the spring of 2006:

“She never heard of journals?”

I have been writing in a journal since I saw a fear Gemini friend attending to her books each day. We were in our late teen years.

The morning pages are supposed to be more of a free write with no thought to story, design or sense-making. I get it.

Back then I think I was just jealous that Cameron got to live in a small house in Taos and I was stuck in a crappy apartment on Del Sol Place in Redding.

My journals, many of which I still have, are close to being complete drivel. They are 87% boring crap. The point is to get that stuff out of the way so the faucets are opened for the good flow.

Just slowing down and letting myself get off the what-next train has allowed me to consider a few directions I’d forgotten I could go in.

My journalist’s post traumatic stress disorder had me shrinking from the idea of writing anything more challenging than blog posts. Over the last few weeks though I’ve been getting the urge to make stories. That’s a good thing.

The trick is not to dive back into the relentless mode too quickly (if ever). I need to establish a deep feeling of love and peace with my own imagination. I need to believe what bubbles up will sustain the full realization of the creation I see shimmering off in the distance.

I am going to a Halloween party tomorrow night where I expect there will be more than a few creative types. It will be good to talk to others. I’m going as a dream pirate.

Wonder what will make the best fake face tattoo?

I think I dream of this place.