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June 27, 2006
SPC: Pop Art: week 4
Watching soccer on five plasma screen tvs at the same time. Drinking beer and eating fries with mayo (indeed) under the misting fans. There's the modern dining experience. More SPC.
Posted by Steph at 10:17 PM | Comments (12)
June 26, 2006
Portrait of Christy and Peter
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| I haven't had time yet to whip up some code for a gallery. All those sequestered wee hours are for indulgent painting and online furniture oggling. There was a time, about six years ago, when I'd have been golden just to poke around with a tangle of hypertext markup language all afternoon, sipping a gin and tonic on the balcony in the quiet, self-indulgent pause of life just before children. But those children, they showed themselves up and, well, here I am pilfering those last scraggly minutes of my day, trying to spin gold from little piles of straw. ...By the way, that's one of Ford's favorite Grimm's, which is funny because it was one of my favorites, too, growing up. Rumplestilksin is so greasy-good! |
| So, in lieu of a proper gallery, where I can tack up all my late-night progress notes, here's a painting. It's the wedding portrait that Tonya asked me to paint of her friends, Peter and Christy. It's okay, I've been allowed to divulge it! But I still feel al little awkward in doing so. Anyway, Tonya's springboard for me was the famous American Gothic. With that in mind, she sent me a few snapshots and some bio (the props in the picture hint at their interests). And do you know? It was FUN. And I hear they loved it. My work here is done. I couldn't ask for a better way to put myself to good use. Well, except for the mothering part. That's pretty fun, too. |
Posted by Steph at 07:55 PM | Comments (4)
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| The encaustic class blinked by last week again. But so that I could start working with the wax at home, I thrifted a vintage electric skillet (to keep the wax in liquid while I work) and invested in a heat gun (which fuses the layers--a tutorial to follow soon). So, I'm sorry to all the spiders and cockroaches and trolls and whatever else crawls the garage floors at night: I'm moving into your space. |
| I almost finished a piece last week that I want to share, but instead I'm offering a quiet picture (above) of five minutes before class ended, a leaf, and some leftover wax. It reminds me of the ladies bathhouse atDeep Eddy: |
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| Back to painting. I'm back in the game! My second commission of the summer (and a curtsey to Tonya!). |
Posted by Steph at 06:18 AM | Comments (6)
June 23, 2006
Illustration Friday: Dance + Rain
Scanner issues, again. I save my patience for my children.
Posted by Steph at 01:36 PM | Comments (16)
June 22, 2006
Saunter
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| Rain lilies. We've had rain lately, but the deer are still eating the zinnias and runner beans. |
The guitar carves our saunter in the woods, with a nod at our footfall by the man picking base. Fiddle follows the sweat sliding down warm arms, smooth slippery sounds of summer. A lively banjo details the levity of the rippling brook we walk along, the darting cardinal family, the scampering squirrels and the sunlit leaves. Johnny Cash fuses the layers of sound in a baritone honeycomb. I smile down at Chas, who always shouts for me to play "Ring of Fire" in the car. And over at Ford, who has recently discovered the geological significance behind that song's name; engrossed as he is, now, in volcanology. |
| Mama Says Om |
Posted by Steph at 11:04 PM | Comments (4)
June 20, 2006
SPC: Pop Art: week 3
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I'm supposed to write something about this photograph, according to the Self Portrait Challenge rules. Well, screw that. I don't have a thing to say about this photograph. I just like it. So there. |
Posted by Steph at 11:58 PM | Comments (7)
June 19, 2006
We Love You, Daddy
Having you back felt like a tranquilizer, smoothing out kinks and rolling out my soul to bask in the sun. I loved how you took the boys to watch the cup at Doc's while I got my hair cut, and having ritas afterwards under the misting fans, Chas mingling with the clientele and Ford schmoozing the waitstaff for Galaga quarters.
I loved listening to kids, whistles and cicadas under that gimongous blue sky on Saturday evening. The one that began to eclipse Deep Eddy in shadow, upstaging all the splashing and bubbling in a quiet, classy grace. And eating hatchburgers and beer and blackberry cobbler, catching up while the kids watched Lady and the Tramp overhead at the Shady Grove. And I loved the part when they fell asleep in the car, on the way home, and stayed asleep for another half hour so we could, um, hang out in the front yard.
Sweeeeeeeet
Posted by Steph at 08:11 PM | Comments (1)
June 16, 2006
Comfort
It's been a long week at home alone with the children.
Each day is a greater test of patience, a chance for me to grow deaf ears and tougher skin to the temper tantrums. But my plan isn't working, and instead of becoming more proficient, certain buttons have actualy shorted out. Chas, for example, is standing in the sun, with too-long hair and wet clothes, cradling a dried-up, dead earthworm. He is pretending it is his baby. And I could care less about that than the way it makes me feel, which is not disgust but a mixture of wonder and pride. How can he be charmed by a dead, dried-up earthworm? My son will surely have no difficulty accepting any child in his life. The world needs men like this.
Meanwhile, I am meditating on my second sweaty bottle of beer. It is still chilled, fifteen minutes from the corner store, and it tastes like college and irresponsibillity and forgiveness. Normally I would wait until 5pm for aperitif, but Damon will pull into the driveway within the next two hours and, with the mericful afternoon, dappled in sunshine (it is only 90 degrees outside right now) and the shaded, inflatable pool, I see no other option but to begin the evening right now. This is as far down in the lawn chair I can sit without falling flat off. And now, the boys are digging in the muddy grass, looking for more worms.
God willing, they will find live ones to care for.
Posted by Steph at 09:22 PM | Comments (2)
Red
   
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welcome sign + taillight + wagon + stew pot
hoop + rake + glitterpaint + caboose
chair + xylophone + amp + chickie knobs
paint + koolaid + firetruck + Zach the betta
ChasStrokes
colorweek.
Posted by Steph at 03:38 AM | Comments (4)
Blue
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glory + pool + wave + falling pennies
birdbath + jellypad + Ford's windchimes + love
slip-n-slide + porch + table + noon
gesso + globe + rug + bluerock
w i n d m i l l
colorweek.
Posted by Steph at 02:00 AM | Comments (0)
June 14, 2006
Renewal
On June 14, 2005 I quoted one of my favorite artists, Georgia O'Keefe:
I decided to start anew -- to strip away what I had been taught, to accept as true my own thinking. This was one of the best times of my life. There was no one around to look at what I was doing, no one interested, no one to say anything about it one way or another. I was alone and singularly free, working into my own unknown -- no one to satisfy but myself. I began with charcoal and paper and decided not to use any color until it was impossible to do what I wanted to do in black and white. I believe it was June before I needed blue.
I started this blog one year ago with one mission: to document another quickly passing year before my memory fades. The kids are growing like beans, their life compressed in a blur of wonderful, remarkable moments of discovery. If not for myself, I've been motivated to return to the page every day (or maybe not as often, while I always try) knowing that a grandparent or a travelling Damon may be curious to see what we are doing from day to day. It's a powerful tool, this added external pressure.
A year has already whirred by and I'm ruffled in its wake. But I'm finding a new perspective in this drift, like one does when the painting is turned sideways, and I'm finding that there's room for more than me:
There's the mother I've never met who wakes up on a Saturday morning, or the mother who takes time during her child's naptime and spends a minute not only to read my latest post, but to comment on it. There's the wonderful writer I admire who, at every post, encourages me to keep writing by leaving constructive criticism. And then there's the enormous mass of you who may never comment at all, but who I am AMAZED and flattered to know spend their time coming back to pick up whatever peanuts I've left on the blog. Our humble life here in central Texas plays out to the swirling symphony of children and crickets and a running dishwasher and lo, I'll be damned if there isn't someone pulling up this blog on his or her computer every few seconds. The comments are flattering, and every single one is cherished, but the actual traffic (the stats I pull up and analyze--and I do!) just blows me away.
Thank You.
And now, it's time to renew. I thought it would be nice to make a list of blog priorities:
1. I need a gallery.
2. I need to share more creative catalysts, soul vitamins. Tutorials.
3. I'm still going to relentlessly catblog about my children, no apologies
4. The blog is getting a spa treatment, as time warrants
5. To be fair, there will probably be plenty of house-building drama this year. Add category.
6. And when I need mental vacation, like a long-winded haiku I will continue to post a moment of zen from the day.
7. New category: (drumroll) Home. Schooling.
( Hark! Rattling crickets! Frantic nail-biting!)
Peace. And thanks for stopping by,
*s
Posted by Steph at 11:52 PM | Comments (7)
Black + Gray
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moleskine + redundant Lamaze toy + cutting block
Peter Rabbit + hat + cutting mat
Painting + tartlet + moka pot
In The Night Kitchen, Sendak + sculpture + scrub jay
crayon + otter + Letter magazine
D E A T H S T A R
Posted by Steph at 07:48 PM | Comments (2)
Brown
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Posted by Steph at 04:45 AM | Comments (5)
June 10, 2006
Painting With Chas
It's really too hot to paint outside during that quiet time of the day when the kids are centered. If I leave Chas to paint alone on the floor in the kitchen, I begin to prickle with anxiety, because it's never long before paint begins flying across the room towards the wool rug (which, being wool, easily stains. And which, for the record, I refuse to live without.) It's a high stakes gamble, but one I can avoid if I sit him on my lap at the kitchen table.
So there we sat, yesterday, and I found I was able to engage him for a longer period of time than usual, simply by painting alongside him, on the same page. Normally, I'd discourage this--it goes completely against my teaching style, which is to let them simply create on their own. But he seemed to enjoy telling me what he was doing, which colors should go where, and he thought what I did was funny. He loved sharing the piece of paper, maybe it reminds him of sitting on my lap when we read a story. For this reason, it felt just right.
Posted by Steph at 08:07 PM | Comments (3)
While I Was Painting With Chas
Ford doesn't share my love of painting, but he is creative in other ways. Here is an arrangement he called me to see, the creation of which he narrated for five minutes to an imaginary audience. When he was finished, he held it in place and sat back, stratching his arm, so that he could get a different perspective on the piece. I told him that it was important to take a picture of it, so that he could look back and appreciate it after he did the inevitable: take a sip, then throw it across the room, pretending that it was a spaceship with attached spacecpod sailing through space.
Posted by Steph at 07:58 PM | Comments (0)
Bushwhacker, Summersaulter
Chas. Bull Creek Trail, Austin
He somersaults now, too! It usually follows "Daw-Dah," which means "Down Dog."
Posted by Steph at 05:15 PM | Comments (0)
My Toys Are Your Toys
I made this aluminum starfish at RISD when we were told to design a toy. I'd just returned from a weekend at Narragannsett, where I'd found a scattering of beached brown sea stars. Inspired by the way they clung to my hands (I'd never before felt one) and their bumpy texture, I immediatedly brainstormed a way to recreate one (or a scattering of them). And because I couldn't get enough of the oily sharp smell of metalshop in winter, I HAD to make one out of aluminum. My favorite memories from school there are from this project.
And what a pang I felt when I looked up this morning to find Ford playing with it! He was whirring and buzzing it all over the house, pretending it was an omidriod robot, for HOURS. It was so rad. I almost cried.
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Posted by Steph at 07:29 AM | Comments (2)
June 09, 2006
Encaustastic!
Beeswax and damar resin fumes meandered out the studio door, through the live oaks and onto the lake, while I manically experimented with pottery tools and heat guns. My first encaustic painting class began today at Laguna Gloria., and it was so MUCH FUN.
I think the fumes may have gotten to my head. I drove home smiling at the deer, creeping along the ridge home. I had to get gas as I rounded our block, and found myself drifting aboard the slinking gas fumes, too. Tonight, the olfactory smorgasborg. But I made it home safe! I'm glazed over and staring at the screen, both boys asleep beside me on the bed. They're angelic in their quiet perfection, framed between us old tired people. Every now and then Chas will flail his arms in dreamscape, eyes pressed shut. As always, he smells like some deep-fried dessert. GOD he smells divine. Hey, where's the powdered sugar?
Posted by Steph at 04:09 AM | Comments (5)
June 08, 2006
7 of 8
Our seventh morning in the hot natatorium. I sat in a white plastic chair above Ford, my sundress sticking to my legs while beads of sweat trickling down my cheeks. Meanwhile, naked with resurfaced anxiety, Ford threw pleas of desperation at me through chattering teeth and purple lips. And I could immediately identify with this feeling of his. I disappeared into my mind, where an abysmally blue open ocean dropped beneath me. I remembered looking down beyond my suspended feet at a shipwreck, one hundred feet below. I remember the way panic feels in a racing heart, chattering teeth, trembling body , and a wild shallow breath that I couldn't uncoil.
I coached him at breakfast, an hour before class. He bent my positive vibes backwards and refused to go. Today I decided not to talk so much, but to firmly remind him of the challenges and the fact that he was, indeed, going to face them. Still, there he was in the water, panicking.
One boy floated on his back, waiting for his turn to swim in the deep water. He spat a stream of water towards the ceiling. The girl beside him made ape calls to an elderly man running in the next lane. The third girl silently stared at Ford. And Ford, for his part, was negotiating as best he could in a frenzied squeal: "Coach Heather? Coach Heather? I'm scared! I want to go to the little-deep side! Please can we go to the little-deep side?"
I wanted to have magic hands to rest on his shoulder and ease his fright. Instead, the best I could do was clench my fists and shove out my thumbs, pinning my grin from one ear to the next, shouting "That was even better than the last time! Way to go!" It was agonizing for me to watch him worry, though I knew his pain, in the face of all my applaud. As if I owned part of the problem. Did I do something wrong? When, of course, the very real fear is his own acquisition, because he is his own person and he is four. I can't blame myself for everything, as hard as I try and as egocentric as I probably am.
But he did it. He jumped into the pool today, smack onto the pool noodle and splashing the teacher's wide smile. I was suddenly able to breathe, and the world started turning again. I wrapped him with praise in a warm white towel and for the rest of the day he greeted everyone, everywhere, by inquiring,
"DO YOU KNOW WHAT? I HAD MY SWIM LESSON THIS MORNING AND I JUMPED INTO THE DEEP END!"
Posted by Steph at 04:17 AM | Comments (4)
June 06, 2006
SPC: Pop Art: week 1
Summer is saturated with mass-production. The sun destroys anything left outside. So after lingering twilight, chasing fireflies and each other around the flowerbeds, toys stay outside night and day. Our home has stretched out onto the lawn. Plastic toys will only last a few months in this climate.
This is an inflatable swimming pool that I bought last summer. I also bagged sand toys, beach balls and a Slip and Slide, but these have all been shuffled into the other toys, buried in sand and punctured by piercing UVrays. This pool has lasted longer than I imagined, knowing when I bought it that it would destruct by Fall, like summer plastic tends to do.
It's beginning to get a fair amount of use, now that we're baking our way towards the double digits. And every day we drain it, like I'm doing (with Ford) in the photo above. I don't have time for stylized puns on Pop art. Take this as a nod to mass production. We like it. Well, maybe not, but it's convenient and cheap and beautiful when you're short on cash. And who isn't, when you majored in Industrial Design in school?
And you can see more Pop art self portraits here.
Speaking of mass-produced: balloons. They are in high demand at our home. Chas loves them. We can drive by Blockbuster (our fallback now that all of our Netflix movies have gone awol) and Chas will scream for boobahs. BOOBAH!!?!? BOOBAH?! BOOBAHH?! like some heroin addict. JUST! ONE! FIX!!!
We brought home two of the Blockbuster balloons with us on Friday, and Ford picked one up to practice the properties of static electricity.
So he rubbbbbbed the balloon on his nappy hair a minute and then I watched him hold the balloon over a small mount of sugar. The sugar flitted excitedly on the table. "A sugarstorm, mom!" He passed the balloon over a pile of punched paper holes: "Dancing dots, mom!" and then he passed the balloon over an ant trail in the kitchen: "Mom! Check it OUT!" And, sure enough, the ants were flicking up onto the balloon. Can you see them? They're tiny pharoah ants (otherwise known as 'Piss Ants' by my father in-law, the entomologist). Science is so funny.
Posted by Steph at 06:57 AM | Comments (4)
June 05, 2006
Absoutely NO Metrosexuals Allowed
The pool in our neighborhood is open. It sits on the lake and adjacent the playground so it's layered with the summer sounds of ski boats, laughter and shouting. All of the children are an inch taller, more sinewy than last year and a lot louder. I'm crowded by the youngest, with open arms for Chas, who is jumping off the ledge and into the water. Ford bobs and squeals with the more experienced swimmers. He's riding atop a blue pool noodle and flashing everyone with Damon's goggles and a wide smile full of straight, sweet little preschooler teeth. Some of us parents are lining the poolside, legs submerged, beers in hand and busy catching up. Many of us haven't seen each other in months, and we're quickly retying our seasonal connections. After all, we'll be seeing a lot of each other in the coming months. The pool is the great common denominator during the long summer languor, and there's something for everybody here, where nobody frowns upon beer bellies and mismatched bikinis.
Posted by Steph at 04:24 AM | Comments (1)
June 03, 2006
I, Cattleprod
I sat on a little wooden bench this morning, Chas on my lap, beside the swim class. I decided that Ford needed a nudge. He wouldn't get away with negotiating or opting out of the coach's instructions. It took preparation, but I was ready for the work.
So we took a jog this morning, both kids in the twinner, and I coached him on the challenges he'd have to face. I told him it would be difficult, but that he would do it anyway. After all, that's the definition of a challenge. We talked about all the things he could do once he was able to swim: we could kayak on Town Lake, ride in Papi's pirough in the bay.
Lo! Did it help. Spastically joyful after each effort, Ford squirmed all over the pool steps and shouted silliness. He made me so proud, I think I wore a smile for hours afterwards.
Posted by Steph at 07:07 AM | Comments (5)
June 01, 2006
The Blanton
Ford, 5.28.2006. Blanton Museum of Art; Austin.
Ford is so challenging. He was the only kid today with dry hair at the end of swim class; he refuses to bob underwater. Through the glass door I watched him dismiss the coach's instructions with a wave and an upturned nose. I wanted to step in and dunk him, myself. This is why I'm paying someone else to teach him to swim; separating my feelings from the task is difficult. All I want him to do is try. But the child just doesn't want to swim yet.
Posted by Steph at 07:01 AM | Comments (3)