Art has a fondness for buying me cakes, particularly after I told him about Birthday Month, which begins a month before your birthday and ends a month after your birthday. For me, this means cakes can appear anytime from approximately April 4 to June 4. I am sorry I didn’t get a photograph of the first Possum cake, which had a rather hideous large gray rat-looking creature made of frosting. Delicious, nonetheless.
From then on, just lettering. Also, the 13th Anniversary of the Polka Cowboys at the same venue.
For Art’s 73rd birthday I made a large sheet cake and with the help of a hand-drawn chart laid out the candles, with a gardenia in the center. It took four people to light the candles, and Art, Missy and Ed blew them out before I could get a photograph, or burn the building down.
He assumes it’s a Stupid Relationship. He’s been here before, see.
He knows what to do and how to feel. After all, nothing this good can be real. It’s all in the future unless
You stop and see what is in the Now.
Don’t let anyone know what you’re thinking.
Follow protocol, even if you start sinking.
She’s not sure how to keep this treasure. She has one eye on the weather
The other on the prize, and simple pleasure.
Keep it simple, Stupid. It’s all in the future unless
We do this together
and stay in the here and now.
You were right. You were absolutely right. That is my crime.
Sonora-Colorado, LAMiller, date unknown– a photo of a painting i did some years ago, a confluence of desert plants that don’t share territory, and the ever-present phainopepla. Some paint, some ink, some pastels, big paper. I gave it to my friend Jean sometime before she went to the great beyond.
April 2017–I packed for the cold, wet rain, but this morning it is fresh, clear and sunny, about 60 degrees by the backyard thermometer. Extra leggings, socks, fleece, down jacket for the cold overnight. The first day we hiked the East side of the Pinnacles, where the campground is, site #65. Two caves, scary piles of huge boulders (earthquake zone) and waterfalls! I brought chili fixins, mostly made. I cooked it up on S’s stove and Art did his tortilla magic on his camp stove.
In the morning I got hurried out of my not-yet-awake complacency. Our hiking companion was packed and ready to go when I was just up and making coffee; knocked my bag and bed-roll over spilling Art’s raisin bran to the ground. Then, instead of sitting with my coffee and cereal and having a civilized morning repast, I rushed to pack up the stove and pot and spilled half the coffee on the table and bench. No real harm done–while Art packed up the tent I wandered off to decompress by the creek. Bonus, vanilla cappuccinos at the Supermercado in Hollister.
Discoveries: S. does not drink coffee; 1/2 the little jar is plenty for an overnight trip; the green and yellow percolator works great; S. smokes cigarets. Art does not want help with the tent. S rushes ahead, Art likes to wander and dawdle. I am somewhere in between. I love sitting in the car reading and writing, somewhat sad to Arrive anywhere.
I had a lens malfunction on Steve’s Canon–it is a signature, it is what I do. I switched out the batteries to see if it would reset–my iPhone battery is dead because I used it for light in the caves, as my flashlight was left in the tent–so no photographs today. The West entrance, perfect hiking weather and high puffy clouds.
What an amazing place! Pinnacles! So happy I came, so happy I brought so many comforts and necessaries. I don’t think we felt a drop of rain after we got into the park.
The trees are oxygenating, the sky is clear, the air cool. Everything is Green, with tiny flowers, and several species of TINY butterflies—a black and white! a checkerspot or fritillary, an off-white but similar to a blue. Not skippers, but that small.
A quick delightful spurt of journaling with pens, watercolors and lovely sketch paper quickly gave way to incessant journaling. I spent a lot of time coloring and painting highlights and entries, but really, non-verbal art-making is just elusive. The Year To Clear What Is Holding You Back has not resulted in very much being revealed as I had hoped– but I am still 45 or so days away from the end, or re-start.
Here are some scribblings from Mid-August.
I signed up for three online watercolor and acrylic painting courses, and was following a couple of art blogs that inspired these three images, executed from the safety and warmth of my custom-made semi-loft bed. In November I began a new journal which I have lost somehow, and in the missing journal there are some pages of color mixing, using a split palette of warm and cool primaries. This is very fun and has refreshed my excitement about using color–Pantone 15-0343 Greenery is the color for 2017.
I play in three different bands a minimum of three days a week, one of which is on the Mondays I used to reserve for painting and drawing. Also, I am on facebook pissing away two or three hours a day, and had spent a lot of what could be creative time shopping for jewelry on Etsy. I am pretty much sated with that now. Also there are still six gardening jobs that get me out of the house a few days here and there for creative and exercise purposes. Also, I have plans to engage with my friend and neighbor Jean W. for some arting and tea.
The studio on Howe Street has issues that hold me back from utilizing it: barking dogs, bad air, no insulation (too hot/cold) 2-hour parking restriction, interruptions from the homeowner, who is a dear friend and likes to chat, and for now, the immobility of the rolling door over the cracked and lifting concrete floor that makes it nearly impossible to get in and out. The fact that it is within walking distance somehow doesn’t register. I have begun clearing there, and brought in some electrical cords and tools that will focus me more on things I cannot do at home. With the new year and returning light I will be going there at least on Fridays, after my weekly trip to my Oakland job.
Eight months ago, I began almost exclusively using my brother’s laptop, a mac book Pro. I never used it for blogging, and I am not sure why not. I don’t know the password . . . haven’t even tried. Since this computer has a no-longer-supported operating system that I am loathe to change, for the most part I have kept it offline.
still needs some sorting here
mixing split primaries with watercolors
In January I began an online course, now on Day 143 of A Year to Clear What is Holding You Back, and have been emptying out my storage under the house, the crawl space, and the stuff from the shed that we tore down at the exact wrong moment–there were a couple cease and desist and emergency clean-up letters from the landlord’s lawyer, and Paul B, Ann and Art came and helped me clean up the yard–there is now a pile of wood debris that has been settling on the property line since mid-April, with no indication that it will ever be taken away, unless I do it.
mixing watercolor greens
I have a long list of stuff I have gotten rid of–I have made huge changes in my life-. A lot of big change in what I am now calling the studio- the rat-shit-garage framing shop, much cleaned, and updated. Art helped rearrange the tables and I brought in my red rug, gradually moving most of my art supplies from home. I have adjusted my view, spending more time there than when I thought of it as the Frame Shop, and the stink and dust was so bad.
May 2016, more spacious after moving tables
June 2016, a little paint, a rug over the cracked floor
I tripped over some big boots in the dark kitchen, and wanted to move them. But “They’re my fucken boots and I’ll put em where I want”. Okay, you cook dinner then, ‘cause I can’t get to the sink. I scrubbed that chrome trolley with a wire brush, so much stuff on the floor I can’t walk, but now there is a new little fridge in the cabin. Dinner was spectacular. I can’t quite determine if I am welcome here or not. Someone else seems to be here in the room, for sure. A ghost, perhaps.
We took Westy on a trip up to Hayfork to Tom’s, with a big load of heavy machinery and arcane tools. There was snow on the way back. At some point, we traded rings and it gets real.
April in Mojave, suddenly we’re in the desert. Not crowded at Hole In the Wall, and so many flowers—
Then up to Mid Hills, where the weather was stormy. $6 for a campsite? Wow. There had been a fire when I was here last, ten years ago or so, and dead trees still standing. I scattered some ashes here. After a little missing coffee fiasco we had tea and oatmeal. Too rainy for a cookout or a campfire, and a bit cold, so we set off for a porkchop breakfast in Searchlight.
Passed up a night in Nipton and went on to Las Vegas, for a real room, hot shower and a clean bed. I didn’t want a “joke” wedding. So, two nights at Circus Circus? And a helicopter ride over Lake Mead.
Then on to the Valley of Fire. The weather had cleared. Didn’t get hitched, didn’t talk about it. Just to make it legal? No no no no no no. Feeling jilted? No cell service but–hey, we’re on vacation. That’s why we went to town, yo. Out here we’re wild and free. I don’t think there is a deadline, okay?
I mixed an amazing green gold out of Cadmium yellow deep hue and brilliant blue. I think acrylics are a little much for a trip like this. If I had a destination, some time, a studio cabin in the wilderness, or even, I dunno, some stability . . . nothing to show for it, for now. Sketchy watercolors are more amenable.
too much paint
Then on to . . . A little cafe in Rachel, Nevada. And then we were three. We inherited a traveler, so we must travel. Heading north, the storm returned, and we awoke at Spencer’s to snow on the roof and covering the windshield, and our guest sleeping on the floor of the van. Seems the trip is over. Darn, I was planning to at least hit Benton Hot Springs, but I am outnumbered. The snow, the rain, lovely, but it’s wearing, and all the steaks, tuna, salmon and sausages I brought have been et. I wrote a poem. Yup.
Came home to another rude letter from the landlord’s lawyer, so now, another frenzy of relocating everything that would have gone into the shed. That project is kaput, I am in shock.
The view from Spencer’s as it was the first time I saw it, looking north toward hiway 50 and the road to Austin Nevada from Spencer’s Hot Springs
Since I lost Steve, sold the shop–and moved my stuff here. Is that what it’s about?
Just did a big redo of the “Frame Shop”, or whatever it is. That dog never did hunt. Just a space, a few blocks from home, that I dedicate to leisure and puttering, but still had been avoiding . . . . why? Barking dogs, confusion and lack of purpose, pesky neighbors, bad raccoon pee stink, dust, funk, a myriad of reasons. Never mind. Hunkering like a recluse in my little bed-sit is much more pleasant.
Jude wanted her stuff up near the door, so Art and I moved the big sideboard, and some other heavy things. I have been unconscious of working around two dozen gallon paint cans and milk crates of mysterious old stuff and parts stacked in corners and under the bench in “my” half of the half of a two-car garage.
I have been finding projects and materials that may come together in this little sunny space. The #1 change is my approach, experiencing and enjoying process instead of judging it, the root of my lack of “output”. There has been an avoidance of adding more “stuff” to my cluttered life, but in shutting down two storage spaces and giving almost everything away, I have come across enough unfinished panels and canvases, and unused materials, that I could paint for months without adding a molecule to the pile I have already. The plan is to transform the garage into my Painting Studio.
Having just returned from my deceased brother’s house and environs in Bothell, Washington about 72 hours ago, I am in a state of delayed reaction. This is the first chance I have had to spend time at home alone for more than a week. I spent all day today cleaning out old files and clippings. I recycled a shopping bag-full of paper. I also had already gone through my Old Magazine Collection, and put out stacks of (1940’s and 50’s) National Geographic, Arizona Highways, and Artist’s magazines I had stacked and shelved and never sorted.
While clearing out all this paper I started seeing all the dross, great ideas and sketches mixed together. Last Thursday in my hotel room i pictured all my paints, how my art supplies are all nearly hidden, put where I can almost reach them. and thought about consolidating and bringing them all together, somewhere. I used to have my painting studio in the kitchen of this small apartment. It was a pretty good arrangement that I just now realize I lost when Steve died. His kitchen was for cooking, his front room for eating, visiting, band practice and watching TV. My area was for sleeping, my quiet space, office, and painting.
Dealing with my grief for my brother has opened up the unhealed wound of Steve’s sudden death and the turmoil of everything that followed. I am able to delete his out-of-focus digital photographs for the first time in 2 and a half years.
Kind of sad, looking at what I took photos of, and the bare walls–realizing this was during the time I had the shop. Many of my paintings were there, too. I think maybe I will move back into my painting kitchen now.
It’s so sad, my baby brother has passed away. I see now a photograph of him, taken just last fall. Gaunt, haunted. I had looked away. If I had only known the pain, but yes, I did, I lived it. I couldn’t stay in it with him. This is me- haunted, but less so. I am so sorry Dickiebird.
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