Sunday, November 05, 2017

figure painting and imminent travel


I overworked this thing.

I need more models. I don't know how to do that. Imagine this for a moment - imagine trying to ask people you know to come over and disrobe for "art", and maybe some "reference pictures". Imagine them backing away slowly. Imagine the HRO meetings. Imagine the ones who actually said yes. Imagine chasing them out of your house with the Claymore sword in the closet. Imagine asking your online friends, instead. Imagine what horrors they might send.

Hmm.

The good news is that I've added 40 lbs to my bench pressing this month, and it's starting to show around the shoulders. These are like REALLY SLOW "before" pictures. I feel a little weird about sharing these, but hey, it's my stupid blog, this is my stupid learning process, and it's nothing I wouldn't show my mom anyway.

Process:


Ramping up for my painting trip to Whidbey Island this week, and beginning to detect a strange fluttering hint of excitement in my crusty old husk of a heart. Spent hours scouting restaurants and breweries, scrolling through photos of oyster entrees and alluring sandwiches. Finally remembered to check the weather forecast.



RAIN. In Washington? 

Yes, it will be a harrowing tale of survival against the elements as I press through the sleet and make stops to fight off hypothermia at every coffee shop and chocolatier and microbrewery along the 20 minute walk to-and-from the studio.

WITNESS ME.

Wednesday, November 01, 2017

Halloween 2017

Two firsts:

* The first year trick-or-treating at our new house (where we have lived for 3 years).

* The first year my kids actually helped carve the pumpkins instead of drawing the faces and then screaming EEW and running away. This is largely because Zenny wasn't scared of getting her hands slimy, and the boys decided they were at least as brave as a 4 year old.


We did not know that trick-or-treating this year should have been extra spooky, because this morning we learned that one of our up-the-road neighbors had been burgled last week and there is a stolen assault rifle on the loose in the neighborhood. Suburbia!

The scariest thing we saw, luckily, was the neighbor who couldn't find any Halloween decorations and lined his walkway with real fire shooting out of sterno cans.

The oldest cousin bailed on us for the 3rd year in a row in favor of people with video games - this time groaning that his girlfriend MADE HIM hang out with her - so we replaced him with Gavin's best friend from robotics. People crap on teenager trick-or-treaters, but they are the best. These kids have no shame, and they are A+ trash-talkers.

My mother and aunt manned their candy distribution post on the other side of the island, and Facetimed us to watch the kids collapse with sugar poisoning at 8:30pm. We chucked the preschooler in bed and stayed up with the big kids to watch Stranger Things and rummage all the Three Musketeers from the candy hoard.



PICTURE DUMP


We made it halfway to school before I looked over and saw what he was wearing

shaaaark, "desert hobo", Victorian ghost child, "plague doctor"(?), makin' bacon pancakes

the look you get when you ask your child to pose with the cat food

glow sticks as shark organs

We had fog and frickin LASERS. 
I feel greasy and old here, but whatever, that is how it is now. 


The night was alive with the howls of "bacon panCAAAAAKES!"


Solidly successful holiday, folks.

Tuesday, October 31, 2017

murder rabbit has technical issues

One of the problems I have with the new iphones is that they don't support the crusty old blogger app, so I can't upload pictures unless I email them to myself and add them from the desktop computer. And our desktop computer blew up because some genius plugged it into the wall socket right next to the power bar (NOT ME). That's part of the reason I haven't been posting much in recent months. 

So all I've got right now is my murder rabbit costume. I will return later with the Halloween Post Nobody Asked For. 

Proof of holiday spirit/peer pressure:





Monday, October 23, 2017

not a pumpkin

I really still don't know what I'm doing, but the only way out is through. Plunge on.

This painting could use a second pass to clean up some of the wonky lines and add texture to the background, but I'm happy with it as a one-sitting portrait. 



Also pictured: the small painting I'm waffling about adding a complicated background to - I like the hair and ear, but not the face, so I either have to fix it, finish it as-is, or abandon it. Meeehhh.

Thursday, October 19, 2017

tacos

The trip kicked up the mud in the water. I pulled out autumn decorations and lit scented candles, figuring a change of seasons might improve things. When that didn't work, I baked cookies. When that didn't work, I painted. I bought a miniature pumpkin to use as a model, thinking I could somehow make it look more interesting than just a miniature pumpkin - and I failed. It just looked like a stupid boring pumpkin with some dead leaves around it.



*sad trombone*

I sat and stared at it and wondered if I could even paint at all. Considered pitching my easel out the studio door, but the studio is in the basement, so I'd have to heave it up a flight of stairs. Pitched myself out, instead. Probably should have pitched the miniature pumpkin.

The next day I had a doctor's appointment down by the art museum, and decided I should go sit with the dead artists for a bit afterwards. I did not do that, however, because while I was in the waiting room I became sidetracked by the office decor.

Buddha says, "You're going to feel my hand for a moment."

A women's doctor's office needs uncomfortable pictures of fruit. Like lemons. Or peaches. Or melons. Or... TACOS*. I suddenly decided it was VERY IMPORTANT that I find a taco. And paint a picture of the taco. The taco would be everything the miniature pumpkin was not. I could get gold leaf and paint heavenly gilded tacos, and be famous for my inspirational taco paintings.


I need more friends, I think.

Anyway, my workshop is in 3 weeks. For the past month, I had been doodling pictures of cabled sweaters and tall boots in the margins of my planner during staff meetings, and then suddenly the air conditioning started working again, blasting the library with an arctic wind that cut through my leather blazer like cheesecloth. I looked at the thermostat. 68 degrees. I looked at the temperature in Seattle. 43 degrees. Wadded up my romantic fall style notions and marched down to the thrift store to buy the heaviest, down-lined-iest, fur-trimmed-iest parka I could get my hands on. Found something with Korean labels that looks as if it may have been made for surviving a nuclear winter. My legs stick out the bottom like Popsicle sticks. They will probably freeze and snap off. I don't need legs for painting, anyway.

and I guess it makes my arms different lengths


I don't know about October, you guys.

* the best fruit

Thursday, October 12, 2017

I live!

Three days up an unpaved road, in a cabin on a mountain with a jilted ex and no cell reception - WHAT COULD GO WRONG?

Nothing went wrong. It was beautiful. Although I didn't actually need to bring a chaperone, because the man brought his wizard beard, and it had a repelling force field around it.


ADVENTURE 

Our flight left before the sun was up. We stopped for 7-11 coffee at 4:30am on the way to the airport, and almost drove over a drunk guy passed out in one of the parking stalls. Forgot to take a vacation picture.


dramatic reenactment

I'd grabbed the spare booster seat and chucked it in the trunk of the car, not realizing that a family of giant cockroaches had moved into the lining. One of the roaches panicked while I was shoving the booster through the airport x-ray machine and scrabbled up onto Gavin's bag. The TSA agents started screaming and made Gavin leave the security line to take the roach outside. While they were staring after him and acting as if they'd never seen a cockroach in Hawaii before, I stood at the end of the conveyor belt, surreptitiously swatting all the roaches out of the booster seat and into their security area. When Gavin got back, we ran for it.

Inter-island flying is the best. You zoom up into the sky, the hostess rushes to throw foil-covered cups of guava juice and coffee at everyone, then she runs back down the aisle to collect the empties and snatch barely-sipped cups of coffee from passengers, and the plane zooms back down again. Zenny clapped, impressed.

Just before having a cup of juice chucked at me

After being overcharged at the car rental joint, the lady at the Budget desk apologized by upgrading me to a car that was completely unsuited to landslide-prone sea cliffs and off-road travel.
"Okay, but the thing is, I actually just don't want to pay the money," I explained to her.
"But," she said with forceful cheer, "With this fee right here, if the car is stolen or damaged, you just walk away, you're totally covered!"
"... So I can hit every bridge on the Hana Highway and park it where people like to break tourist's windows and set the cars on fire?"
"Yes, but... wait, where are you going?"
"SOLD."

The ridiculous little sports car was the best thing ever. I loved it so much, even though I didn't know how to lower the seats and drove all the way to Hana perched at the wheel like a velociraptor.


Also, I told people it was a Mazda the whole time and it turns out it was a Nissan. 
I am good at cars.

Our cabin was waaaay up the mountainside, along an unpaved road, across a steep hill of wet grass, and up two strips of concrete with wheel-sucking mud on all sides. I couldn't believe it when the little car made it up to the house, and we fell out of the car in quivering lumps of adrenaline. Not even an hour later, there was a terrible roar and a long squeal and then a crunch. We trotted outside to meet the neighbor from the yurt up the hill, who had gone off the concrete strips, gotten his van bogged in the mud, managed to floor it and get back up onto the strips, and then hydroplaned down the grass, sliding 180 degrees and crashing backwards into a bunch of rocks. "Nah, man, it's cool, I just have a bunch of lemongrass wrapped around my axle," he said, unfazed. I looked at my weenie car and wondered how we would leave the mountain alive.

During the days, friends descended on us, and we played cards and talked and ate sausages into the night. After the kids were asleep, the guy-friend and I sat on the porch, talking and watching the skies for shooting stars. On the second night, the half-moon rose out of the ocean flat-side-up, forming an enormous glowing orange rectangle that scared the crap out of us. We have been nuked! Aliens! Ghost ship! ... Moon. Embarrassing.

The shower was outside, with no privacy beyond acres of uninhabited mountainside and massive flower bushes. I waited until everyone was asleep and picked my way down the stone path in the dark like a mountain goat to bathe under the stars. I woke up early every morning to make coffee with the French press and watch the sun rise. It was pretty great.


Also,  my archenemy tried to ambush me. And FAILED. HA. We went down the mountain to hit the beach and hang out at our friend's place, and she figured out where we were, showing up without warning just minutes after I had wandered off and headed back up to the cabin. I WIN AGAIN. Accidentally.

While Zenny enjoyed endless rounds of Go Fish, the teenagers formed a mob. They played Spoons, shared secrets, ran through the trees, picked avocados, dunked each other in the ocean, went to a dance at the rec center, and ate everything they could find. Gavin was happy, battered, and sunburned by the time we said our goodbyes and drove back along the coast to the airport. We bought big boxes of Krispy Kreme and joined all the other families traveling back to Oahu with massive bags full of donuts. People from Oahu are weird about Krispy Kreme, because we don't have any. TSA has to examine food items now, as part of enhanced security measures, and they scrutinized the avocado I had dropped into my backpack, but the endless bags of Krispy Kremes defeated them, and they just pushed them through without a glance. That is quality security for you.

It was a really good trip. This time when I said we should do it again, I wasn't lying through my teeth.


PHOTO DUMP


 Panorama of the awesome cabin

The worst wiener dog

The best girls

 Gouache is hard and stupid

 Friends and brothers

The road that tried to eat my fancy not-a-Mazda

Ruts of doom
 There was a really pretty meditation pavilion that looked like a fish tank for humans

 The starry sunrise


The beard taking the man for a walk through the flowers


The holy-shit sunrise

Rain that may have been magic

Moments before I escaped an ambush


DONUTS


Sunday, October 08, 2017

mwah

This is a scheduled post. I am flying in the air. Driving along the sea cliffs. Cooking dinner up on a mountain. I'll be off the grid for a few days.

I am feeling nervous about this trip. Uneasy.

But there will be a large porch overlooking the water, and a deck of cards, and a pocket sketchbook. I am giving this thing my most earnest effort, and lifting a glass to you far-away people gathering for celebrations and Canadian feasts.








Friday, October 06, 2017

vacation prep

* New haircut: no

* New swimsuit: I did not get one

* Flowing beach clothes: old jeans are fine, why not

What I have been doing is lifting weights obsessively, in case I end up pushing the rental car out of a gulch or getting into a brawl at the general store.





vacation goals

All these punching muscles would maybe be more useful if I had ever learned how to throw a punch. How hard can it be? I've seen it done in real life; pull back, haul out with your fist, and follow the momentum around gracefully into a sprint in the opposite direction. I doubt punching technology has advanced since I was 10. And this time it won't be me getting punched in the face, probably.

Or actually I could just bring a big box of Krispy Kreme donuts and beer so that people are happy to see me.

Keeping my options open. But I like having the muscles. I can open jars now.

Saturday, September 30, 2017

Not unrelated

I have started drinking coffee again. Oh no.

And during the time I am working instead of sleeping, I have developed an affection for New Zealand films. Especially the ones directed by/starring Taika Waititi. What We Do in Shadows is the very best vampire movie, and Boy relates more to my experience growing up on Molokai than any film I've seen. Go watch these things, you guys.

What We Do in Shadows



Boy



blog note: I have figured out how to re-link all the images I broke in the great Google Plus disaster of 2014, and I have been painstakingly working back through my old entries and reconnecting the pictures. So the archives aren't an obstacle course of blank image boxes anymore. Kind of. It'll take a while.


Everyone please stop

The boys were at my mom's house when news hit the internets about the Italian Dildo Disaster, wherein a shipment of rubber sex toys washed up on a beach and terrorized parents of young children. My mother read this, fell over laughing, and the kids came skidding over to see what was happening. I have already had the privilege of explaining to the kids what these things are, after they hung out with some teenagers who were pretending to be telemarketing dildo salesmen, and Leif thought this disaster was was the greatest thing that has ever happened in the arc of human history. All the marvels of human ingenuity and scientific achievement had led to this - a beach full of dicks. For the next week, he kept interjecting wiener jokes into our conversations, and he was actually managing to be funny so it was really hard to tell him to shut up about dingledongs at the dinner table. And then, a few days later, husbandface started shopping for Christmas presents online, and while perusing Japanese squishy toys he was derailed by the discovery of by-the-dozen boxes of adorable squish "ding dings". He laughed himself stupid and then bought them, so now I have to find where he hid them before he recreates the Italian beach disaster on Christmas morning.

 One more month until my painting retreat, you guys.

Sunday, September 24, 2017

Wherein I know better than to make non-specific wishes.

"I'll get on a plane more!" I said. "This will be the year of travel!" I declared. Shut up, self.

And now I am going to Maui in 2 weeks.

For context, our last trip to Maui ended in the Emergency Helivac Incident.

The year before that, I dived behind a rental car to hide from my avowed archenemy at the Nahiku Marketplace.

Before that, I snuck out of town, pregnant and crying with a cat shitting itself in a cardboard box.

Also there is still a giant Brienne of Tarth out to stomp my ass.

I don't have a history of dignity and grace when it comes to Maui, I am saying. Or anywhere, really, but I splatted my face in the cow pie pretty spectacularly over there.

We are going to drive slow, mind our manners, stay on the cabin property with friends, and nobody is going to leave on a stretcher this time. It is going to be fine. Fiiiiine.



Fruit with a bite

One of our library patrons came in on Friday with a big paper bag full of dragonfruit.
"Wow!" we said. "You sure you don't you want any?"
He held up his hand, which was a bit bandaged and mangled. "Nah. I chopped off two of my fingers the last time I harvested them, and my wife hasn't stopped giving me shit for it. I don't want to see another dragonfruit, take them all."
We checked the bag for fingers. That is what happens when you try to take a dragon's fruit, I guess.

So while it's the weekend in New Zealand and I had some free time, I brought home a couple dragonfruits and made one of them sit for a portrait.

6x6, oil on gessobord