by buying all green plastic animals.
My Web Page: Tapirback.com
This is the first collage I've done since maybe 2004. I'm still not letting it (whatever it is) go, or letting it out, but at least I'm addressing that fact, finally. I used to do collages all the time, and they are good for my mental health and sense of self. After awhile, they get less intense - usually. I did them especially when I was anxious or tense. I often did three in a row. The first was either too controlled or all over the map. The second often had something to say that was readable, and was usually the one with any artistic merit (if any of them was going to have artistic merit). By the third one, I was usually over whatever it was, and there wasn't much left to transfer to the image.
Today I felt I was in none of those three categories, but I felt that whatever it was, the lid was still on; my inside was boiling. It was frightened to have the lid even be lifted with any chance of the content escaping. Partially, the lid was on because I don't know where to go with it. And, I'm censoring. And I'm doing that partly because I have enjoyed blogging photos and images, and I thought I might blog whatever came out. But this did not feel safe, and it felt like an imposition on anyone who might see it, but I also felt that I wanted to put it in blog format so I could see it that way and add some text. It feels journaled and more complete.
Making the collage felt good and bad. There's a reason I've been resisting. I was tense by the time it was done, but quite relaxed an hour later [and the typing didn't affect my hands badly as it usually does these days]. The image is more or less the same as many of my more emotional but less elucidating old collages, but there was something new and liberating in the visceral aspect today, maybe because I hadn't felt quite that in such a long time. I need to do this. Taking and posting photos may be more fun for people to look at, but it doesn't do much for the stuff that's locked up. Without the art side of it, just blogging photos probably helps keep the lid in place, because it makes me think I'm having a dialogue with the inside, when I'm barely whispering.
I wonder how much of fibromyalgia is trying to keep the inside stuff inside. That, for sure, is stressful.
I noticed that in today's collage there is no humor and no real place of safety. Many of my collages have those elements, so maybe they will come back over time.
Yesterday afternoon the sun came out brilliantly for the first time on this trip, and this morning was the first time in a long time I'd seen a Paris morning in bright sunlight. It was gorgeous. As we walked from our hotel to the Seine (last post), I was enjoying the fall colors and bright light.
These photos are my few pictures of Notre Dame with alluringly blue skies.
We're crossing the Pont au Double from the left bank onto the island, and this is the gorgeous view you get of the south transept, the rose window, and the flying buttresses from that angle. The spire has some of the most interesting sculptures on it - mainly interesting to me just because of the blue-green color contrasted with the spire itself. Well, yes, and it's interesting to see these figures on the roof of the church.
It was such a nice day that the artists were out on the Pont au Double. I'm not usually interested in the caricaturists, like this one, but I do enjoy seeing really fine drawing. I have tended to think that even though this is Paris, most of the street art was by artists who were not so good, but this trip we saw many who were excellent. This guy was probably quite good for a caricaturist, but that's not my cup of tea. We saw some good portraitists at Montmartre.
This is where the Pont au Double intersects with the Parvis Notre Dame (the square in front of the cathedral). I like the arcs of cobblestone a lot. I also felt a kinship with the person trailing their luggage. Whenever possible, I like to make Notre Dame the first and last stop of my trip. Fortunately, we still had some days left to enjoy the city. It was still a novelty to see blue sky over the buildings of the Prefecture de Police in the background.
Passing in front of the Cathedral of Notre Dame, we came to a corner at Rue d'Arcole and Rue du Cloitre Notre Dame. I've always enjoyed the tile paintings that are part of this building. I like them better than the dime-a-dozen assembly-link prints being sold to tourists at the shop. It was hard to get pictures of the tilework today, though, because of the scaffolding. This image is on the Rue d'Arcole.
This one is around the corner on Rue du Cloitre Notre Dame. It's really, really too bad about the stupid graffiti.
I don't know, but I've spent some time writing about it on the gift shop blog tonight. I had fun working on the site and trying to improve it. Working with Les's beautiful pins didn't hurt, either. I love looking at them. I get a lot of creative pleasure from working on the site, solving various issues, making it more usable, nicer looking, easier to use. But I can also feel the call to paper and paint yelling at me. Paper, paint, pencils, whatever. I've been away from it for awhile. Also, in all the time I've been working on the web I have, for the most part, either "not found the time" or not been brave enough to post my own personal art (much). I think that's changing. Maybe I'll do some this weekend.
A couple of days ago I started a blog about my father. It started with a post on the Tapir Preservation Fund blog about the sad and untimely death of Nico van Strien. You can read the post. While writing it, I began thinking of my father. My dad's birthday was a couple of weeks ago, and the anniversary of his death is coming soon. The one post led into the other thought, and then I wanted to make a blog in honor of my father. After his death, I intended to collect some material about his life and put it into notebooks for some of the family. I bought the notebooks, collected a couple of things, and got sidetracked. Then I moved. At the moment, I can't find the original collection of things. They aren't gone, they just haven't been found yet.
What a wonderful sight to wake up to on our first full day in Belize. This is the view from our upstairs room at the far end of one of the wings of the Radisson Fort George Hotel.
Both last night and this morning we noticed the birds gliding along the shoreline outside our hotel. You could hardly miss them. Not only were they big, but they had a sense of "otherness." "You are no longer at home," they seemed to say. They were exotic. Which is a little weird on the one hand, because of the two most prominent birds, one was a brown pelican. We have them in Oregon along the coast, and that's only 10 miles from where I live. The thing was, these were flying CLOSE. You could see more than faint shape. The more exotic bird was the frigate, found only in the tropics. The frigate bird above is from the NOAA web site. Actually, the bird in this photo looks less strange than they can appear. The forked tail is one aspect I remember, but the other is the pointed "elbows." It depends on the angle. Frigates are unique in a number of respects. (Much of the following info is paraphrased from Wikipedia.) Being sea birds, you'd think they might dive or swim, but they do neither. They don't have enough oil in their feathes to keep them afloat. They have a unique structure to their bones which allows them to glide on the warm updrafts over tropical oceans where they can signal changing weather patterns along the fronts. Besides being unable to swim, frigate birds cannot take off from a flat surface. Having the largest wingspan to body weight ratio of any bird, they are able to stay aloft for more than a week, landing only to roost or breed on trees or cliffs. They are light weight, and have the highest ratio of wing area to body mass, and the lowest wing loading of any bird.
This is again outside our hotel along a broad stretch of road that skirts the waterfront in Belize City.
Below is the beautiful currency of Belize, depicting local animals. Belizean artists often used these animals in their compositions, and we would see the tapir, toucan, and flowering plant together like this on many a piece of slate carved for tourists.
I've taken up drawing again after having done very little or nothing with it for years. It seems your eyes and your muscles start all over again, or almost all over again, after this long. It feels clumsy and it's frustrating, but I decided I wanted to see how good I could get before I get much older, since it's something I used to do pretty well. I began taking a class at the art center in Grand Junction.
It's all exercises at this point. The infamous gesture drawings. But truly, if you can learn to do them well, it will help a lot. If you ever wonder if gesture drawings have any point, find some by Rembrandt.
Peach trees and snow at the end of Milleman Street. This is looking approximately west toward Grand Mesa.
I suppose this would be southwest. There's Grand Mesa and some smaller hills.
Simple and small. The early days of TPF. The gift shop items are in the white cabinets. The rugs are from Salasaca, Ecuador, brought back by Craig Downer.
Today I photographed some of the arts and crafts I'd begun to pick up again. Above is a painting of Nietsche. It wasn't anything about him personally I wanted to paint, but I found a picture on a book cover in a magazine, and I thought the face was dynamic, so I got my old paint and brushes to see what came out of me. It's not a style I'd ever tried before. I wanted to use paint. I think that was my overriding feeling. I wanted to put paint on canvas. I wasn't sure what I wanted as far as the images, only the expression of feeling with paint, although I didn't want to do a complete abstract. I like recognizable images.
This is a bulletin board I had in the back bedroom, which I was turning into my art room. I had set up the canvas to photograph. For the painting, I'd taken an old frame, painted it black, and simply stapled some canvas onto the back of it. The blanket is just a backdrop for that. Above are pieces to a "watercolor quilt" I never finished. I love, love, LOVE the gradation of colors and pattern in this style of quilt. I'd found a book and was making my own design from the style. Here's a link I just found online to someone's water color quilt gallery (not mine :) Also on the bulletin board are several framed tapir stamp prints that Kate had made and sent to me to put in the online tapir gift shop for Christmas ornaments. Kate was very generous and creative that way, and we had unusual ornaments for sale each year. In the center is a page from a calendar I liked. The entire calendar was made of Egyptian prints by David Roberts. I just love this guy's work!
In another experiment, I found a photo of a Russian Orthodox (?) church, and used that as a model for color, because I liked the shapes. In the end, I liked the colors a lot, but the composition didn't feel right for a finished work. Still, I was getting into it, not sure where I wanted to go. Decisions about art are some of the hardest, and don't let anyone tell you differently! There are so few "right" answers, and so many, MANY decisions to make. It can really cause a person to feel nuts and very unstable. You simply don't have the easy answers of 6 and 6 make 12, and you sign on this line and mail the form. Of course, I hate forms much more than I am confused by creative decisions, so I guess I was born to deal with the inscrutable (from Latin: in + scrutari = to search).
In this case, I drew out some Egyptian heads and decided to let things flow from there, using both an Egyptian-style print fabric and paint. I kind of like what happened, but it's clearly two different paintings, which I never resolved and never finished. Interestingly, it also came from two different images. Here is an image from a collage I made showing three ancient Egyptian faces.
All of the rooms had incarnations. This was near the end of my time in Palisade, and I'd started trying to paint again, to find myself with the medium. On the canvas with the tapirs, I'd painted everything except for the tapirs, and as of this writing (2008), I haven't finished it. The painting on the filing cabinets is from the 1980s. It's a detail - a big blow-up of some weeds alongside a road taken from a 19th Century line engraving and painted with a brush in pastel shading. I always liked it, and never painted anything else remotely similar. Taped on the wall is a xeroxed enlargement of a photo Stefan Seitz took of a baby Malayan tapir. I thought I might paint it someday or design it into a t-shirt. Two real tapir skulls sit on the filing cabinet along with the turpentine can (with Mona Lisa's picture on it), and the green blanket is a color I like. I still have it. Also on the filing cabinet is a black figure. I hope I have another photo somewhere. It's a fertility goddess or something like that; a big woman riding on a real deer skull. Marco bought it in the Philippines. It stayed with him in Colorado. The folded paper behind the turp can is a simple collage I made by gluing some picture on top of another; I don't remember the image exactly, but it almost came to mind. I had it around for quite awhile. The easel is a beautiful artwork in itself that Marco gave me and I still have. It folds up and you can carry it with your paint things inside. It's very clever and very heavy, too. The basket under the easel is one I still use as a trash can (for clean trash). I got it in Los Angeles for not much money at a basket store. It's tall and fits nicely in corners and other unexpected places where no other trash can will fit. And, it looks artistic and classy. I've stitched the bottom into it again. I hope it never wears out. The small red wooden thing is a book rack. I think I got that with Robin, and I think we got two of them. It was inexpensive, under two dollars, I think. And I always loved it, especially the color. The canvas(es) propped against the filing cabinet seem to be three that I hinged together to form a triptych, but then never used. There are a lot of memories in this little corner, but I also like the arrangement for what it is and how it looks. It was a simpler time, too. The file cabinets had tapir info and personal files. I've brought them to Oregon with me also. And, they've expanded. I thought this was going to be a quick and simple post!
The bit of photo in the upper right is a picture I took and printed in Santa Barbara at Sanctuary House. I'd found some shark cartelage on the beach that day. It was huge - maybe 15 or 20 feet long. Someone said it could have been a nurse shark or basking shark. Thee was also a lot of kelp nearby. I was fascinated with shapes of the shark, so unusual, because they're rarely seen on land. The wide blob of paint to the left of the hand feeding the skull is silver, and looks better in real life. I feel like I did this one on the floor in the upstairs apartment on West Valerio (?) Street. Dates and locations will probably come together as I post more artwork. (This is the beginning of what I hope will turn out to be quite a bit of archiving paper onto the blog.)
I believe I had a nightmare or very scary dream, and began with those feelings when I made this. I was with Bruce at the Fairmont Hotel in San Francisco, where he'd gone for a convention. The hotel was wonderful, but I was having a bout of panic attacks, and I didn't go out much. I'd taken my box of collage materials, and I made a number of them on the trip. This is the original of this particular design. Later I enlarged the pieces and made one that I framed. I think it won a prize at an art event in Santa Monica. I'm sure it did. I didn't like it as much as a number of the other things I submitted. Now I remember, the collage shared second place in Mixed Media with Megan Rice's sculpture, and that's how we met.