Itemizing the Inexplicable

I've compiled a short list of things I just can't do (for whatever reason).

1. Keep my fingernails looking nice.

I'm a woman. I wanna look nice (from head to toe) if I can manage, and like many women, I've got a crusty bag of nail polish under the sink. In it, there's a color to satisfy whatever my whim, but choosing which to use, unfortunately, is only half the battle.

I've got painting my right hand down pat. It's the sticky aftermath that troubles me, that thirty-minute period where your fingernails feel dry to the touch, but they're still susceptible to bumps and scrapes of infinite variety. I can entertain myself for the first ten minutes or so, but as time ticks by, confidence waxes and vigilance wanes. I'll set about doing something, and even with the utmost care, the inevitable smudging occurs, at which point caution is thrown to the wind and thoughts of 'to hell with it' win out.

2. Have a drink nearby while painting.

Like all the best lessons, this is one learned the hard way. When I get it in my head that I'd like to paint something, I first undergo a ritual of preparation meant to prevent even the slightest inconvenience occurring while I'm elbow-deep in acrylic. This ritual used to involve setting a drink nearby so that my baser human needs did not interrupt the genius that was sure to unfold (or more accurately, to spare me the trouble of having to tip-toe to the kitchen with paint-speckled feet later on).

...but lo! It doesn't matter if my drink is a can of soda or a cup of coffee or any number of beverages lacking any resemblance to the cup of water I clean my brushes in. I WILL, as sure as the sun sets, lift that cup of sullied paint-water to my mouth instead. It could have twenty paintbrushes resting in it, and I would still try to drink it. What this says about me, I'd like not to consider...

3. Throw out the old.

Let's first acknowledge the fact that there are things worth keeping, and let's second concede that those things are not usually what clutter the metaphorical studio apartment of Life. Many useless things are taking up valuable real-estate in the limited surfaces of my mind and my apartment, but I can't bring myself to get rid of them.

Yes, I am referring to the headless Precious Moments figurines I keep stashed away in a box within a box, but I am talking, too, about those useless memories and ideas that linger for the sole purpose of giving me a swift mental kick when I'm down. This clutter is called to attention when sifting through the stuff in my trunk, or when I'm in an emotionally masochistic mood and wish to flagellate myself for all of my perceived failings (of which there are many).

I can live with smudged nails, and I can be thirsty while I paint, but this last one is something I'll have to work on.

Once Upon a Time

As the holidays draw near, I can't help but be reminded of my great-grandmother--Mildred Harrison. She passed away shortly after I moved to South Carolina in 2010. I knew when I went to visit her at the nursing home the day of my departure that it might be the last time I saw her. Just before I left, she asked me to write her while I was away, and I promised I would...

Grandmother and Granddad, pictured on the right.

My sister, Tiffany, and I spent a lot of time at our Grandmother and Granddad's when we were little. They lived in a big house with a big yard, and it came with a few peculiarities that I remember well--particularly a rock wall in the back. The landscaper had placed several large geodes alongside it as he found them in the yard, but the idea that someone may have discovered them before Tiffany and me was inconceivable. I don't know how large they actually were, but I do recall having a great deal of trouble lugging the largest up the back-steps and into the kitchen where I could show Grandmother what I found. Fortunately for a five-year-old's fragile ego, she was kind enough to act surprised.

The house itself was chock-full of rooms, and each had a name of its own. There was the Victorian room, filled with antique furniture, oil lamps, and glass figurines; the Safari room, so named for its excessive use of cheetah and zebra prints; Elizabeth's room, adorned with family heirlooms and flowered wallpaper that was fuzzy to the touch; and then there was JuJu's room, with it's bright red carpet and our family's over-sized wedding photos mounted along the walls. I usually wanted to sleep with my sister in the Safari room, which was hers by tradition, but my room was JuJu's. I slept in it every night we stayed there, and before me, my father did the same.

Grandmother, Tiffany, and I spent most of our time together in the Victorian room. This was where we toasted marshmallows and threw tea parties. It was imperative that there be a tea-party every time we went to Grandmother's house. It would sometimes take us half the afternoon to prepare all the little snacks and dishes, my favorites being the sandwich squares and strawberries dipped in sugar. When the time came, Tiffany and I would wrap up in feather boas and put elbow-length gloves on, all the while cooling ourselves (whatever the temperature) with a couple of sequined folding fans she bought for us.

Occasionally, Grandmother would pile us into her long, white Cadillac and take us down to the riverfront. She always enjoyed the shops down there, and each time we went, she allowed my sister and I to pick out an item we wanted to take home with us. On one such occasion, she bought Tiffany and I each a little porcelain tea-set. I still have mine (and the folding fan) today.

After dinner most nights, Granddad would take the three of us out to Grandview Cemetery to see where their son, Leo Jr., was buried. This was a daily ritual that I didn't understand until I was much older, but I enjoyed collecting the fragments of plastic flowers that littered the cemetery lawn. From there, we would return home, where the rest of our evening would be spent with Grandmother in the master bedroom. Tiff and I would get comfortable on the day bed and watch I Love Lucy while Grandmother tended to whatever business was necessary, oftentimes bringing in clothes hung to dry from the roof of their screened-in porch. (It could be accessed through a door in their bedroom, and I was always considered too little to venture onto the roof, so it was only when I could steal a minute alone that I would even dare.)

Should Grandmother ever require any alone time, my sister and I would watch television or entertain ourselves at the saloon-style bar in the basement. It was such a fascinating old house. Grandmother always had an affinity for cowboys and Indians, so we would take turns waving around an iron pistol or running amok in a full-sized Indian headdress...

...but Grandmother's house wasn't the only venue in which she entertained us. We would often hang around her desk at Harrison Motor Company, too. It was "the shop" to us, but "the place of business" according to Grandmother. Four generations of Harrison men, beginning with my great-great-grandfather, all worked in the shop at one time or another, and to this day, what Grandmother did there is still unclear to me. But there she was just the same, and I could always rely on her to save me a cake doughnut with white icing. Those were her favorite, and mine too, coincidentally. Whenever I exhausted myself roller-skating up and down the showroom floor, my doughnut was waiting for me at Grandmother's desk.

As I got older, so did Grandmother. By the time I left for South Carolina, she was no longer the person I've described and she hadn't been for many years. I wrote her a letter as promised, and it was delivered the day she went to the hospital. In the melee, Granddad was unable to check the mail, and she passed away before getting to read it. I was devastated by this, as was Granddad, but he photocopied the letter and we placed the original with her in the casket. I like to pretend it wasn't too late.

Reimagining the Pearl

I decided to rearrange the furniture in my apartment. I like to do that every now and then. I think it makes your home feel like a new place, and sometimes, that's needed (at least for me). While I was moving stuff around, I noticed that the wall above our bed was looking a little empty, so I rolled up my sleeves and broke out the canvas.

Back when I was an angst-ridden teenager, I mutilated dozens of books, tearing the pages out one at a time. I plastered hundreds of them on every wall in my room, including the closet. When my mom eventually sold the house, it all had to be undone, of course, so I aimed to recreate that in a way that would be a little easier to remove.

Because I wanted the painting to complement my bedspread, I set to work mixing a grayish blue-green color. After ripping the pages from a drugstore edition of John Steinbeck's The Pearl, I used the paint rather sloppily as an adhesive. This gave the piece a crude appearance that I find attractive.

...before I continue, I want to take a minute to explain why I chose The Pearl. John Steinbeck happens to be one of my favorite authors, and this particular copy was one of several books I took from my grandma's house when she passed away last year. It was of no great significance to her or anyone else, but I wanted it for the simple fact that it was hers, and the story, to me, was special. Maybe it's unclear why I would do this to a book that means so much to me, but the answer is easy: because it means so much to me.

Now, where was I? Oh, yeah, the painting.

My next order of business was to tape off sections of the canvas and wet only the surfaces I was going to repaint. I then whipped up a plum purple, a burnt orange, and an earthy yellow. With the wet canvas angled as it was, the paint dribbled down to give it more of that processed inelegance I'm so fond of.

As soon as the second layer finished drying, I went over all of it with slight variations of the same colors.Using a wet brush, I lifted off some of the paint to give it a little more transparency. It was important to me that the story seep through in the end.

And there you have it! The finished piece. It may not sell for millions, but I think it has served its purpose.

My Latest Project

Part I: His Woodness

The wound is healing nicely, and he doesn't seem to be in much pain. The stitches are scheduled to come out next Thursday if everything continues to progress as well as it has. I honestly think he's had more trouble adjusting to the cone around his head than the loss of his leg. He gets around really well, but his movements these last few days suggest to me that he may be experiencing some muscle soreness as his body adapts to hopping around on only three legs.

He looks good, whether he's feeling it or not.

I'm thankful his physical condition has not been much cause for concern these last few days. I am, however, a little upset by his demeanor. I made the mistake of reading about amputation and the recovery process online, and it was mentioned that dogs sometimes go through a bout of depression after surgery.  I don't know if that's what is going on here, or if I'm just over-analyzing his behavior. I didn't even know dogs could be depressed. He's just not his usual Woodness, but I suppose that's to be expected after a major operation like he's had. If nothing else, his appetite is as big as ever, and that gives me peace of mind. 

On a sidenote, tomorrow is Wood's ninth birthday. :)

Part II: The Project

What I've got in the works.

As some of you may have noticed, 2012 has been a big year for my family and me. With that in mind, I decided I wanted to commemorate some memorable moments by painting a quilt. I learned when I was younger how to sew, crochet, and embroider, but never how to quilt, so I'll just have to hit the canvas instead.

Fortunately, I happened to have six 8x10 canvases on hand, and I thought they'd serve well as patches. I painted each a different color, and the first event I chose to memorialize was my dad's heart transplant. I didn't think to take pictures of the design process, which was really pretty simple, but I will try to remember to do that on my next piece. 

Spoiler alert.

Patch #1: the finished piece.

Right now, I am in the beginning stages of patch #2, which will symbolize my time at the South Bend Museum of Art, as well as the things I learned in my painting classes with Katherine Schmidt and David Lester Learn (both fantastic artists). I'm kind of going for a gritty, comic-book style with this series of paintings, so hopefully that will translate on the canvas when all is said and done. I think I'll just try and have some fun with it in the meantime. :)

More later...