dia de los muertos

This is one of my very favorite holidays. Back in the day, I was raised as a Catholic, on my Irish side. Oh sure, we Celts were pagan, but we had no idea how cool it could be. We never ever dared to party in the graveyard. Never. Little did we know that, like the Mexicans, it was our birthright.

Come to find out, there was an Irishman by the name of William Lamport (b. 1615). He was quite the rake, and a love affair-gone-bad (real bad) caused him to flee all the way to Mexico. Once there, he was outraged by the poverty and degradation of Indians and Africans. Ultimately accused of plotting a war of independence against the government, he was imprisoned. He escaped ten years later and lived as a fugitive, continuing his life and love affairs in the New World. He was eventually captured and sentenced to death by the Inquisition, which launched his name into legendary martyrdom. At the time, his adventurous and charitable lifestyle was well-known, and citizens dubbed him,"El Zorro." Like I said, little did we know.

I have a good collection of DD stuff, including several dioramas; they're my "little altars". As an artist, this "Frieda" one is special to me.


Click on the title of this post for some good video about Dia de los Muertos.

personal style

everyone's got one

morning at sunset

my stuff

I have some interesting stuff (don't we all?). Big things and small things, but not too many things. And every thing is a story. I have no trouble jettisoning junk, so the treasures I end up keeping undergo a harsh review. To me, it's art (in some way), or it wouldn't be here. Tell you what, I'll show you something once in a while; you make up the story. Then tell that story. Paint it. Sing it. To yourself. To us. But tell it.

Meanwhile, the boyfriend stands here waiting with his flowers. You'll see him again; he's very photogenic and holds a pose like a brick. Isn't he wonderful?

ghost dog

This painting came out of, well, I won't say nowhere. But I can say that this one came out of itself. That highlight in the eye showed up while I reloaded my brush; I saw it just in time to stop painting. To be honest, I'm afraid knowing when to stop doesn't happen nearly as often as it coulda/woulda/shouda, but when it does, it's a real thrill. It's as good as making the right mark.

Though I swear there is no velvet Elvis in my past, sometimes I like to mix color with a metallic iridescent. In this case, yellow oxide and some sienna with metallic gold. The resulting light shift gives it some life, some movement. And makes it almost impossible to photograph. "Almost" means I'm still trying.

Sounds like life.

riverbank

Once I stopped taking everyone else's advice, the art, the camera and even the unfriendly computer finally got all kinds of friendly. Relief with a capital R. Which spells "riverbank".

snow already?

This fox likes to nap in the clematis vine on top of the gazebo next to my studio; these photos of him are from the window up in the loft. He slept soundly through several hours of hard cold rain, wrapped tightly in his gorgeous tail. Slept so hard his snores rocked him to and fro. How nice.


Then it started to snow. You can see (click) that the fox was as thrilled as the rest of us at winter's early onset. He stood, stretched, and shook himself back into shape; then he hightailed it outta there. Btw, the dogs and the fox and I think it's pretty ironic that they call a tail a "stole" once they steal it. How nasty.

float this quote

I've added some more blogs I like. Susan Cornelis had this quote in hers the other day. It's worth repeating.

"When you start working, everybody is in your studio – the past, your friends, your enemies, the art world, and above all your own ideas – all are there. But as you continue painting they start to leave, one by one and you are left completely alone. Then if you are lucky, even you leave." -Philip Guston

As soon as I get back, I plan to post some pictures.
If there's anything cheaper than talk, it's plans.

holy boomerang!

Alleys are a walk through the backside of a town. It's a tour of things people don't want out front on the porch but generally don't mind allowing in their backyards. I've always been an alley-rat; no matter where in the world I am, it's what I want to see. Others can have the tourist Meccas. I prefer the souks out back, where the trash cans are lined up like ninepins (unless the racketycoons have been bowling for garbage the night before), and occasional treasures teeter on the edge of belonging. Whenever in whichever town, this is where the dog and I walk.

Along with its other face, Boulder's backside has undergone an, excuse the expression, dramatic shift. Some say good; I say not so good. During the past decade+ of mobiling upward, its trash has evolved from something typically smelly, to something to actually be considered, if not downright desirable. Why, it's a regular Ali Baba's cave out there.

So when I found the boomerang, the dog reminded me, "Life is about learning, grasshoppah. Rub the lamp."
How To Throw A Boomerang