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Showing posts from September, 2008

Fall flowers - Take Time to Enjoy...

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This is one of my favorite photos, taken during a heavenly late-September vacation in Vermont, a place where one can easily pause in the midst of sublime beauty. If only I could time travel... Found the video at the bottom of this post on Sherry's blog,  Esprit d' Art ,  she'd found it on another blogger's site, who'd gotten from another blog... at any rate, it's well worth the watch.  How often do we take time out to really think... about what might be going on with people we encounter on a casual basis, whether or not they cause us a delay? One of the benefits of living with chronic illness is moving at a slower pace than many people. Over time, it results in living in the moment, paying more attention to the small stuff and taking in more detail. On a bad day it's like standing on the ground while the rest of the world whirls by on a merry-go-round; no stops, no tickets. Invisible illness becomes invisibility. After three years I've learned to appreci

Trash or Treasure?!

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When I was working on my piece for the Trash Outside the Box Art-E-Zine swap, I was so focused on finishing it and sending it on its way to Canada, that I forgot that I'd get one in return. And, did I ever. This beautiful box was created by Pat MacMicken, who also hosted the swap. I'm amazed by the intricacy, detail, the sheer prettiness of this piece and I'm excited about adding it to my collection. A prize for sure! That is the appeal of swaps, to me, being able to look around my studio and see fairy jars, ATCs, shrines and boxes, all made by women I've mostly never met in person, but with whom I feel connected through art. And, I suppose, knowing that my work is in studios across North America, hopefully emanating all the same good will, good vibes and sense of being in tune with artists working at all levels, with or without chronic illness, but all with our fair share of burdens, each translating those into meaningful, stunning, radiant art. I've had to drop ou
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So whatever your hands find to do you must do with all your heart there are thoughts enough To blow men's minds and tear great worlds apart There's a healing touch to find you On that broad highway somewhere To lift you high As music flying Through the angel's hair Don't ask what you are not doing Because your voice cannot command In time we will move mountains And it will come through your hands       ~ john hiatt

A Princess Weekend

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Have you ever seen the movie Elizabethtown? It was very underrated and overlooked by the masses. I, however, own the movie and the soundtrack. Orlando Bloom plays a highly celebrated designer for an athletic shoe that flops and cost him his job and the Oregon company a billion dollars. The night he gets dumped by his boss and his new gal, he learns of his father's death and his need to travel to Kentucky and retrieve the body. Along the way he meets flight attendant Kirstin Dunst, at first an overly helpful, somewhat ditzy but outgoing gal who ends up being the only person to whom he can relate during his stay in Kentucky. At the Brown Hotel. Have you ever been to the Brown Hotel? If you haven't, Google it and feast your eyes on one of the most gorgeous hotels that wasn't altered for Orlando's stay there, where many of the movie's best scenes are filmed. And, where my daughter and I recently indulged in a Princess Weekend. We were treated like royalty from the momen

Les Chocolates

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I can't believe I didn't include a photo of the lovely chocolates that Laurant, the French Chef, had delivered to our room, along with the note he wrote. Probably the most princessy event of the weekend!

The Switch is on!

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I don't know what it is about buttons... I have hundreds of them. And light switch plates... Maybe because people buy them? I am finishing up a dozen  for Street Scene and these three, part of a bird series, were so much fun to do! I love playing in alcohol inks and Lumieres, bringing sticks in from the yard, and grunging scraps of papers and beads; the challenge of a small 'canvas.'  I visit blogs to soak in the depth and extraordinary feeling of creation, whether it be dark or whimsical, and I keep saying I'm going to pour my soul onto journal pages, alter with abandon, collage wildly, paint with huge fat brushes on giant, well, a space bigger than 3 x 5, but, always after I get the switch plates done. I don't make a lot of money (obviously) on these, but it is very gratifying to know that people enjoy them enough to put them in their homes and that I'm paying for a portion, even if it is tiny, of my art supplies.  I just read a great quote by Dorothy Parker:

Life is a Verb, Art is a Shovel

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I photographed my new copy of Life is a Verb on the stool where my butt should be. On Patti Digh's site, 37 days , there are photos of people with the book in various settings, all demonstrating how the book is having an impact on their lives. I agree that life is a verb, must be a verb; I have always said love is a verb - didn't I have a post with that title? And, in reading the introductory pages and deeper, into the aptly titled, "Inhabit Your Story," which is  Part One,  I think that this book may indeed possess the motivation factor.  Not that motivation is missing, more like time, well, energy time  when I can create. But it's more than just time. Yesterday, when I sat and looked at what I was working on, and compared it to the projects I most want to tackle, there was a gulf, a wide yawning space between the hands functioning, pasting, cutting, painting, and the heart that wants to scream, make itself known. I love my art groups and every swap in which I

awareness is a good thing...

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I came across this logo while reading My Vintage Studio , one of my favorite blogs, and it was like - WOW!  I've never heard about this before and it's the week, too late to do a lot aside from posting the info and reading the daily blog and spreading the word as widely as I can through my own blog and emails. Having an invisible ailment - and I know of several blog friends who live with chronic illness that isn't readily apparent - is unique and presents different situations from, say, being in a wheel chair, or, God forbid, having a terminal illness. I'm not sick enough to be bedridden or homebound, though I don't travel too far or for very long. But I do have a handicapped tag hanging from my rearview mirror, and I get some pretty odd looks when I'm in a huge parking lot and actually use it; I miss out on long, late dinners and pretty much everything that happens after 7 or 8 at night. I have been isolated socially for a couple of years now, and my old circle
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I've long been a fan of the Quotable product line. I have a journal that says: Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over it became a butterfly.  I have a magnet with a Churchill quote: When you're going through hell, keep going. The folks there find some pretty darned compelling quotes, to be sure.  I was in a fabulously cute boutique/gallery in Louisville this past weekend and walked by the card rack and this one stopped me in my tracks. Fear of failure is the number one wrench thrown into my works all my life. And I don't think I'm alone... to some degree most all of us fear failure, or worse, fear success. So, I wonder how many of know the heart-answer to this question? And how many of us are actually living / doing whatever it is, regardless of the potential for failure? Of course there is no guarantee. Ever. But, if I'm totally honest, the ideas that float along on the fringes of my mind are going to change my life view - hopefully the way I spend my

trAshEd bOx sWaP - a step outside the box

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Every time I do a swap, I find that I'm trying something new, which isn't that amazing since I have only belonged to art groups for a couple  years:) From inchies, Artist's Coping Kits, to ATCs, fairy jars and, last week on Art-e-Zine, trash outside the box.  Like many of the projects I've so enjoyed, there was a lot of freedom, the only requirement being the box. So, I found a heart shaped yard sale cast off and went to work. I got out wAy too much - paper, tissue, scraps, trims, beads and found items, then I sat and stared. I tried planning, holding things against the surface to see how they blended, if the colors matched. That got me absolutely nowhere. I glued a layer of paper on all the outer surfaces, ending up with purples and greens. After some serious stewing and procrastinating, I finally found that switch inside that turns off the monkey brain and lets the hands work as though unattached from the circuits that try to control, er, perfect the process. I began