Road: Dying of the Light

Art Journal, The Road, Thoughts

Stop here sensitive souls. You’ve been warned.

Kurt and I needed a new quest after the Salt River Wild Horses to keep our spirits up in this Covid Era. We settled on Sedona. The weather looked nice, we’d never been and plenty of opportunities to explore while socially distancing.
And then it took an entire day to get away from Phoenix. First one orange kitten demanded play at 5:00am. Then the day went from there. Chores. Groceries. Filling water tank and jugs. Water misadventure. Water all over the camper. Water clean up. Fix the hose. Finish filling the water tank. A lunch break. Get to the location.

Me: This doesn’t look like Sedona?

Kurt: Oh, I received an email about the tire replacement, I’m picking it up in Phoenix.

Me: So… we aren’t going to Sedona?

Kurt: Not yet.

Then we drove along dirt road looking for dispersed camping spot in Agua Fria National Monument. Hear a POP. Determined that the rear window safety glass had shattered. The road dead ended. Nearly got stuck. Ran over a bush after 1,000 attempts at turning around. Declared it wasn’t a saguaro, we’re good. Decide we don’t care where we sleep . Park for the night just in time to hear the safety glass start cascading out of the frame.

2021. Agua Fria National Monument.


Dispersed camping it is, at least until we take care of business. The next morning we found a ohv staging area outside of Phoenix to install ourselves. The plan: remove all the gear from under the truck capper. Find a place to get the glass fixed. Fill truck back up. Pick up replacement tire. Nothing to it. A few days in the desert and we’d be on our way.

Life still happens. Good or bad on the road. We expected car problems. What came next was never on the menu. All experiences have value though. One launches you to the next wether you enjoyed it or not.

I promised to tell the tale of how we were blessed with Beelzebub the Orange after losing Mr. Gato last October. This isn’t going to be that.
Do I start with Freddie, the four-parts mutt, who cannot help herself when it comes to the chase and the kill? Or Grunt. My fearful brindle beasty. The canine of soulful slime and anxiety. Mr. Gato’s sad, but peaceful death after a long summer of illness. Or did it begin with our newest edition Beelzebub the Orange. The perfect fluffy orange tiger kitten to fill the grief hole with purrs and magic. Dancing his way across our hearts.


Yes. Let’s begin there.
Somewhere in Texas I gave up finding a kitten. Once over the Arizona border I tried again and came across the littlest orange fuzz. And he was perfect. Willful. Energetic. Snuggles. Talkative. My Orange. The bond was immediate. He was adjusting to travel nicely. And camper life.
He insisted on the snuggle with Freddie. And tried with Grunt. With some success. The Orange saved his kitty biscuits for me, but shared his warm little body love with us equally.
Grief is price for love.
And as I loved Mister fiercely for fourteen years, I was just getting started with this little monster.
Life was good again.
There is an ugly beauty when you hold a being you love in its last moments. And there is absolutely nothing you can do.
On a Tuesday. The same Tuesday that congress would convene to Impeach our president for the second time I woke up to the sound of a kitten screaming. At first all that came into focus was Kurt making coffee. Then I hazily asked if he was ok. And I was handed a furry dying ember.
And I held him fiercely.
We don’t know why it happened.
Neither of us saw it happen. For some unknown reason Grunt bit the kitten. And that was all it took. I had no reason to believe my dogs wouldn’t accept a kitten. Both were raised among many cats of all ages including kittens. Up until that moment I would have told you everyone was getting on famously.
It became clear though, that an attack from Grunt on Freddie a couple weeks earlier, was no fluke. And we had been blind to the increasing violence he was doing to her. At home or on the road who wants to have to choose between their furry companions? Grunt wasn’t tolerating kitten or dog. Grunt had new needs we couldn’t give him.

2021. Beelzebub the Orange’s Grave.

The day after.

I needed to find a spark of joy.
We had this telescope taking up valuable room. And my neurons made some connections. Parked near us was a bus with their instagram handle on the side. I checked them out earlier in our stay. They were homeschooling five kids. Go Neurons.
Selfishly I marched that telescope across the sand in the bright dry desert day… I needed there to be goodness in the world. I needed to feel good outside of our small bitter animal kingdom tragedy.
And? It worked out splendidly. They were also having a tough week, for other reasons. Their kids already had an interest in the stars. Serendipity.
We left Phoenix, Arizona. Again camping at the Agua Fria National Monument. This time just us and one dog. A fixed window. Hard lessons. Less one bouncy orange kitten.

2021. Agua Fria National Monument

I found AZ Mastiff Rescue, a large breed rescue group. Freddie isn’t sorry. We hadn’t noticed how withdrawn she was. Suddenly we had a happy dog in front of us. I feel confident Grunt will be happier in the end too. We will be judged. Some will judge us for getting the breed in the first place. Some will judge us for keeping him so long. Others will find fault in us surrendering him to a rescue.

All I can say is I’ve always believed my home would be forever for every pet I brought in. And now I’ve learned again that life brings unforeseen challenges. The right and responsible act doesn’t always feel well done in the moment.

We left Grunt at the Rescue with everything I could give him for his best transition. I wrote out his history. His quirks. Sent his veterinary records. His harness, head collar, kong toy, his leash and the quilt they laid on in the truck. I did a photo shoot with him and emailed those to the Rescue. I said goodbye to my big chicken dog who was afraid of the dark and didn’t like the rain. I said goodbye to memories and to a future that didn’t come to pass. I was so mad at him. I loved him.
It was time to spoil Freddie. Since she could now enjoy a bone and toy of her own. I made my husband stop at the pet isle while we were getting supplies. Over the days since the surrender she has relaxed. Freddie is playing with her toys again. She doesn’t act like she’s on high alert 24/7. Listens to commands better. I can’t put into words all the changes we’ve noticed. It is clear she is a happier companion.

2021. Freddie enjoying new adventures.

Road: Intermission; Solitude Summer

Art Journal, Self Reflection, Thoughts


I’ve been stuck. Blocked. How do I bridge the time between getting off the road and back on? Do I jump back in and skip over this, the slow part? To me the slow part seems essential to the continuity of story. And then again not much occurred. BUT everything occurred. Read or don’t read. This is for me, as it has always been, but more so. Cathartic.

Spring comes to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan
Spring comes to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan

We drove directly home during the initial shutdowns of March 2020 due to Covid. And then? And then we waited for June. Because on June 1, 2020 my husband had a job waiting for him… a nine hour drive from me.
This is where my lonely summer begins. With me, the two dogs and Mister (the love of my life, my large black tomcat, my old man).
This situation felt familiar. Many years before, on another planet entirely, I lived a lonely summer in the northern woods with just me and two fierce cats. Differences. In this case I was not working, I was well provided for, I lived much further in the woods and more isolated, I had running water, internet, emotional support etc…

What am I trying to convey?
Even if events on the National and personal level were wearing me down I was in a healthier environment than the one echoing up from my past.

Mr. Gato (aka Mister) and Grunt

I spent the long summer days working through overdue household projects. Painting. Staining. Cleaning. Purging. Fixing. Finishing. All while my attention was glued to the National news. Protests and riots. Covid-19 numbers. BLM and a President who frankly scared me.
What I didn’t see immediately, was that my love, my forever, my Mister was dying.
To some a cat, to me a person.
Over the weeks I cared for him. Adjusting his food based on behavior. Going ever softer and wetter. At some point I was feeding him every couple hours, just little bits of watered down paste. Getting woken up in early morning hours (4:00 am) to him gently pawing my face and crying: feed me.

Caught a Summer Rain

I held him.
“They” say cats who don’t feel well hide. Mister did some of that. But in the end he was with me. The last weeks, days and hours I held him. Through the nights and as much as I could during the day.
My husband came home. Should we discuss what transpired? No. Boring adult decisions. We’ll leave it at: that particular opportunity we tried out wasn’t for us.
The time came to get back on the road. The week came. Packing. Finishing up chores. But Mister was not alright.
The decision with the veterinarian. Mister had not responded to the treatment.
In the hours until the appointment… Four? Five? I held him. We fell asleep together in a patch of sunshine. I cradled his weight and the rest of him stretched across me. My old man. Black whiskers gone white. My adventure cat. My studio cat. My muse. There for me the last fourteen years, no matter.
We buried him by my studio.


Then we departed…

Project: Waxed Canvas Artist Paint Brush Roll

Art Journal, process

Traveling with art supplies requires solutions. Every solution leads to new problems to solve. This week I realized that my investment in better quality brushes was going to be a huge disappointment if they became damaged during transit. Unfortunately my cheap and particular self couldn’t find an artist’s paint brush roll at a price point I could live with. Being me I decided to at least try making my own before buying one.

One thing: I have some skills, sewing is not one of them. Sewing machines are a mystery and my patience for hand stitching is minimal. I used a canvas drop cloth against itself, taking advantage of the manufacturer’s work to save my sanity. For the rest I relied on heat tape to secure my pieces and edges before stitching.

In the end I was left with a limp cloth roll. The idea was there, but not the protection.

Could I wax my own canvas? According to Google, absolutely. Most sources recommend bees wax, but I had paraffin wax on hand. I tested it first and didn’t mind the result.

To fix the uneven coverage I ironed the material at the highest temp. I used scrap fabric to soak up excess wax and directly ironed the waxed canvas to get full coverage in other spots (I don’t recommend doing this part with an iron you wish to use outside of your art practice).


I’m happy with the result. I think this will offer my brushes the best protection while traveling.

Thoughts in Isolation: 2

Art Journal, Self Reflection, Thoughts

Wednesday, April 15, 2020

I did not think I would experience any new emotions after posting the two week journal “Thoughts in Isolation.” I was wrong. Today. Today I ache inside. I am numb yet sad yet nauseous. I made a double batch of no-bake cookies after starting the last 15 pieces of the 100 Day Project. I feel weepy yet I don’t weep! I’m mad. I’m dissatisfied. I’m disappointed. From heart down to my stomach I feel bubbling emotions but I can’t identify them. They swirl and toss like a shipwreck. I’m relieved and angry. I’m sickened and disgusted. I’m empty. I’m a tempest.

Today people choked the capital of Michigan protesting governor Whitmer’s executive orders. They block emergency vehicles. They mingle. They are mad about seeds. Some of my Facebook friends support this. Most do not.

Today I skimmed Facebook trying to avoid all the conspiracy theories. I’m baffled by the ridiculous number of them. And everyone yelling at each other to “think for themselves.” I don’t know if I should be comforted by listening to an expert explain everywhere in the world comes up with conspiracies during outbreaks with convenient scapegoats particular to their corner of the world.

But what really breaks me is the normality of my Grandfather’s death amidst everything.

Thursday, April 16, 2020

I’m trying to wrap my heart around the grieving process for my grandfather but it all feels so distant. In a different time I would of driven the forty minutes to see my family immediately after I was told. In this world that seems irresponsible. So I stay home. I hope that my grandmother is safe. I hope no one in the flurry of activity carried the virus with them to my grieving family. I hope they were able to keep him comfortable in his last hours.

My grandfather was kindness where my home life was chaos. He fixed up an old banana seat bike and spray painted it dark green for me. Remedying my lack of bike riding knowledge. He taught me some doodles I can still draw. Tried to teach me a line or two of French. I went with him walking at the ice rink. And fishing.

Grandpa was flannels and suspenders. Mint chocolate. Tomato thieving. Chipmunk taming. Garage tinkering. He was full of games and riddles. He was a collection of hematite rocks. Old westerns and baseball. He was ritually painting the deck brown. I watched him give up his raspberry patch, his truck, his boat, his sight. He was wit and charm.

Most of all he was Grandpa. When I was confused by my father’s side of the family and reproached by his wife, Lucille, not to call her grandmother. This Grandfather never made that distinction. Even though most of us weren’t his by blood.

How do we mourn in this time of corona?

Sunday, April 19, 2020

Everyone is getting their chain yanked by someone in country. And everyone thinks they are the ones “thinking for themselves.” Everyone is at each others throats on social media. Guilty. How does something so simple as staying home to save lives become so politicized? I have questions.

Monday, April 20, 2020

Many members of my family have posted on social media about the passing of our Grandfather. I can’t do it. I cannot bring myself to deal with the societal etiquette of public condolences and public thanks.

Wednesday, April 22, 2020

mitigation

social distancing

PPE

N95

corona

covid-19

ventilators

flattening the curve

Dr. Birx and Fauci

the scarf

Governor Coumo

fabric masks

Wuhan

isolation

quarantine

USS Comfort and Mercy

the cure cannot be worse than the disease

the invisible enemy

testing

false negatives/positives

supply chain

chloroquine

hot zone

that woman from Michigan

pandemic

Spanish Flu

1918

second wave

Chinese virus

contact tracing

exponential

two weeks

six feet

2%

0.1%

15%

asymptomatic carriers

shelter in place

So many words that have taken over our language in the last weeks and months. Our minds quickly pick up on and race away with a flurry of new vocabulary. Wielding them like knives against each other.

I wonder when life will feel normal. I guess society always fluxes. We never went back to pre- 9/11 life. We’ve been fighting that war since. I only knew the feeling of job and financial security during the last years of the Obama administration. Wiped away again by greed. Watching big businesses suck up bail outs while little micro-businesses are starved out. Watch them wink out one by one. Stranding families and once thriving communities.

The system only works by a thin thread of belief. There’s nothing real about the ant hill of capitalism. An engine that drives and consumes the planet for profit. But why? More electronic money. More. More. More. Not even paper anymore. Just numbers we believe in. To make our lives better? It’s NOT so! I witnessed two different America’s driving across this country. People living in towers overlooking people living in gutters.

What’s real? We have one life. Once it’s over… A company can be rebuilt. A country can recover from a recession or depression. We won’t get our people back if we send them off as sacrificial lambs for capitalism. No one needs a hair cut that badly. What we need is food, water, shelter and our tribe to be safe.

I’m just not willing to give up my mother, grandmother or husband because some people believe the economy is more important and some others believe the virus is a hoax.

Thursday, April 23, 2020

I was brutally awakened from a nap by a cascade of horns honking and a cacophony of dogs barking. When I tried to hush the dogs my husband yelled back “their having a parade.” Out here in the middle of the woods? with us as the only witness, they came out to their camp to have themselves a little birthday party for the wife. A nurse at a nearby hospital. Complete with children and the elderly. How sweet.

And…

The president suggested we disinfect our lungs. Inject cleaners.

Sunday, April 26, 2020

I’m getting weird about things. I’m closing in around myself. I’m not going out. Not looking to leave the house. I don’t want to talk to many people. I’m not accomplishing much. I don’t feel sad. I’m ok. I think? I miss the desert. I miss the road. Although I’m not afraid, the current events prey on latent fears. If that makes sense. The current isolation mimics the times from before I was on medication. When stores were the enemy. Strangers. Contact. An invisible barrier. I at that time was getting weird about going into stores I wasn’t familiar with. About talking to anyone. Leaving the house got troubling. And it’s like that now I’m feeling, but a different cause. And I’m distant from people the same way I was then. Not out of social anxiety, but because of social safety. But it feels emotionally the same. The difference now is that I have a partner to lean on. At my worst with the social anxiety I was alone.

Tuesday, April 28, 2020

I’ve been thinking about my father and everything he’s missing. What would he make of this time? He was never one that could stand being still. He always wanted to go. How would he handle being asked to stay home? I cannot imagine it. I caught myself sitting in repose like him the other night. One arm swung over my head and fidgeting with the cuticles of my other hand. When I realized that was a piece of him inside my posture, I separated from space, time and body for a moment. Grief is like that, it comes at you like a freight train when you least expect it, years later. It’s him not seeing Star Wars or Dune. It’s not getting his opinion on politics. It’s walking through Family Video. It’s watching the places he once inhabited with his mass disappear from the world. Popping like little soap bubbles on a timeline.

Wednesday, April 29, 2020

I have not been taking care of myself. My husband asked me to go for a walk with him today and I felt a bit of panic at leaving the house. This is not a good sign. I took a shower. Changed my clothes. And swept the floor. Tomorrow I will do more to be human. Oops. I’m not all the way down the rabbit hole yet.

Monday, May 4, 2020

I’m annoyed by my dry skin. I was scraping at it on my face with my finger nails. Now I have a scab on my nose where I went to far. I thought the doldrums I experienced in Death Valley were bad. That was just preparation. ‘Twas just a fng precursor. I’m thinking bangs. Perhaps I’ve watched enough Asian woman successfully give themselves bangs on YouTube to manage. Or at least I’ll have a few minutes entertainment before meltdown.

My lack of consistent schedule may have resulted in some medication dose misses. I’m hitting the anxiety jackpot. And since I’m not seeing anyone or interacting with anyone, I can only guess that the current feeling of mild terror about leaving the house is where my brain is putting all that anxious energy. Light feelings of agoraphobia are not new anxiety symptoms for me, it’s just been awhile since it’s been expressed this way. And not exactly surprising since we’ve been asked not to leave the house for over a month now.

So. I’m working on getting myself righted a little every day. I finished one big art project and I’m working through the other I have going. I’m not unhappy. So I have that. Just a bit… off kilter, but then so is everyone else as far as I can tell. We’re going to be alright, just a bit damaged. And heartbroken. With terrible bangs. And picked over skin.

Spring is here. Can you feel it’s renewing energy?

100 Day Project: Last Two Days

100 Day Project, Projects

Day 99: April 29

Pacing myself. I thought when I started this I wouldn’t care how many pieces I made, then I figured fifty would be a fine number. As it became clear that I was averaging one a day, even if that’s not exactly when I finished them, I decided to shoot for 100 pieces.

Day 100: April 30

I thought I’d bring this project to a close the same way I opened it: with a self portrait. 100 pieces. 100 Days. A road trip across the country home. A pandemic. Strange times. Bittersweet.

100/100 Days

100 Day Project: Week 11

100 Day Project, Projects

Day 71: April 1

I’m struggling to maintain interest amid everything.

Day 72: April 2

Productive. But, I’m not sure this is the direction I want to go? I continue to play with plant textures. But maybe I’d rather get back to skulls and ravens???

Day 73: April 3

Feeling trapped by this direction. Definitely. Will have to break free of it soon.

Just when I felt over it all. Inspiration. I found a feather floating around my house. A new experiment.

Day 74: April 4

Interesting results today. I am placated.

However. I don’t know that I’ll commit to a hundred days of anything again. 27% of the year. That’s a lot of days. A lot. Look what can happen to the world in 100 days. I’m a commitmentphobe (is that a word?) and I fell for that optimistic feeling seventy some days ago that said: you have time to commit, it’ll be fun. Maybe it’s that I feel I’ve learned what I set out to learn, with twenty-five days to go… what investment am I making with my time now?

Day 75: April 5

I lost a day again??? I guess I didn’t have an important breakthrough.

Day 76: April 6

I brought in fallen oak leaves. They are a nightmare to work with. But something new.

Day 77: April 7

Working up to it today.

Days 77/100

The Road: Part 7

Art Journal, The Road

Los Osos

A driveway stay for a little over a week. Long enough to completely scatter our things across the camper. A breath of stability and exploration of the coast.

There were challenges finding the correct location of the tide pools. Challenges, I say.

Attempt no. 1 brought us to this beautiful bay we could park right next to and waltz up to the shoreline. We arrived just before sunset at low tide.

Attempt no. 2 “I think it’s this way.” We parked and had a few choices on trails to take through the low shoreline scrub brush leading into the cascading dunes. I followed, blindly, my husband up and down the coastal dunes (sand mountains?) to a dead end with rubber legs. And back up I slogged through the sand. We tried another trail. Up and down the dunes to the tide pools.

Attempt no. 3, with new directions, we tried again following a reasonable trail down through the shore vegetation to the tide pools.

I can’t forget visiting Morro Bay and Otters…

Elephant Seal Rookery, San Simeon

Near Hearst Castle the Elephant Seals gather for the breeding season. Thousands. Hundreds were on the beach and so many more were in the water. Mostly they lay on the sand barely moving, flipping sand across their backs on occasion. We followed the sounds down the beach to where an older male was chasing away an interloper and the yearlings and pups were playing.

After leaving the main beach we stopped at another roadside pullout. My husband thought it was a regular beach (signage was in not apparent) and just before reaching the beach I stopped him from coming face to face with a young male elephant seal.

Los Padres National Forest

Big Sur. We stayed on the south side for two nights and it rained in California. For a brief moment the sun shined and we took a walk to the ocean cliffs. Where I was quickly about the abundance of poison oak in the state of California. I made it out of California unscathed.

Monterey

We left the campground in Los Padres National Forest and followed 1 up the coast to Monterey. We camped at Laguna Seca with it’s epic green views and racetrack. Racetrack. Yes we camped to the sounds of race cars zooming all day.

250 years old with a literary and canning past, Monterey sits by the ocean with its gem the Monterey Bay Aquarium. I’ve never been to one so I have no comparison. All I can say is it was spectacular and inspiring. When we arrived the octopus was active and moving around it’s tank. Swelling and swirling his arms. In addition to the real Octopi there was another beautiful multimedia exhibit dedicated to how octopi and squid were historically depicted. There were schools of fish swimming in current tanks, jellyfish dancing. rescued shore birds, touch tanks, sharks, a green sea turtle, and art exhibited by artists dedicated to bringing awareness to the problem of plastics in the ocean.

Unfortunately for me I was the recipient of an ignorant and hostile public policing effort at the Octopus tank. A young mother, with a brood of homeschool kids, took it upon herself to attack me for my camera’s meter light because the sign said no flash. Then there was a mob reaction. Another woman chimed in with: “haven’t you taken enough photographs, you can stop so the rest of us can enjoy the exhibit.”

I was so frustrated and angry. Not one of those women felt the need to say a single word to my husband who was also photographing. And a guy next to me flashed the octopus with his iPhone, but he just “made a mistake.”

It took a male staff member to step in and set the mob straight. And as an artist I’ve been singled out more than once in my life for not following the rules as other people, and often, women see them. And more than once I’ve had to stand my ground, hold my breath and carry on knowing that I’m on a different path they don’t understand, I’M NOT WRONG I AM AN ARTIST.

San Franciso

We made a stop an hour outside of San Francisco so I could attempt to make contact with someone in the city. We crossed over the Golden Gate for fun (not fun) and later the Bay Bridge for me to search a six story public library with no luck on finding this person. My heart breaks for this country of haves and have nots. I wish others understood, or tried, a little, to understand how fragile mental and financial stability are.

Northern California & Touching Oregon

Northern California….

Its sort of a blur now. I’m writing this and it is still recent history. That wasn’t even days ago I was in San Francisco and now its under a Shelter in Place order. The thing about the old truck was we didn’t have a radio. We couldn’t listen to any news in the truck and we were often places with poor service. History is now catching up so fast now that we have the news available in the new truck. When we were driving up the California Coast to Oregon the Covid-19 troubles seemed distant. By the time we landed in Brookings, Oregon it was obvious that we needed to head home. Now California is shutting down state parks. New Mexico already shut them down.

With great sadness, my feet kissed the Pacific Northwest and turned tail. We are heading south to head east because it is still winter in the Rocky Mountains. It is time to go home. The world is out of our control and it’s time to go home to the roads we know.

Brookings Oregon

The rest of this tale will hopefully be of the long road home.

100 Day Project: Week 8

100 Day Project, Projects

Day 50: March 11

A little color study. Not the sexiest work, but the best way to systematically understand the colors. And of course I had way too much paint left over… so more of those spare paint types of pieces will probably be in the works.

Color study.
Spare Paint Color Study.

Day 51: March 12

I also worked yesterday on some texture studies. Which I continued this morning. What a frustrating challenge to get things to stay in place. Today I white washed the pieces to make the textures pop out. To be continued.

Work in progress. Pine Needles and Linen.

Day 52: March 13

Lines. Lines. More lines. Struggling to find some new insightful thoughts to regurgitate here.

Day 53: March 14

Is this mid-project exhaustion? 53 is so many days.

Day 54: March 15

I about ruined a piece this morning. Added spare paint to it to cover areas I didn’t like. Then it got out of control. So I washed it all off. I like the way the lines look worn now from being under water.

Covid-19…

Detail.

Day 55: March 16

In the spirit of exploring textures and with the inability to find supplies on the road, I worked plies of toilet paper onto a piece last night with paint and added lines to it today. Can’t find hand sanitizer either. It’s going to be a long road home. I don’t know what further measures will be taken to slow the spread of this virus and I hope we don’t get caught up in it on the road.

Day 56: March 17

That didn’t go as planned. Again. Tuesday’s never seem to be a good day for one reason or another to lay the art out for documentation.

Days 56/100.
In progress.

100 Day Project: Week 7

100 Day Project, Projects

Day 43: March 4

When I started I figured I’d make maybe 50 pieces. I’m on track for one a day even though I don’t finish one each day. I work here, there and then all of a sudden a bunch teach the finish line together. Today I worked with a textured crow again, and again used the leftover paint to experiment with. Definitely not how I want to create work, but still a fun thing to explore.

Extra paint explorations.

I have to acknowledge this. It was supposed to be a color study. But oh no no no…

In progress…

No!

Things went wrong quickly here. The colors didn’t work the way I imagined. Then it just kept getting worse. I’m still thinking of ways to salvage it. But I feel nauseous looking at it from the color combinations.

Day 44: March 5

It isn’t that I don’t have time or ideas today. It’s that I just don’t want to. Not even a little bit.

I’ll start some pieces just with color. And leave it at that. No pressure today.

And then I never stopped.

In progress.

Day 45: March 6

Traveling today. Had to fight for my work time this morning.

Detail

Day 46: March 7

No Internet Service.

Day 47: March 8

Did minimal today and yesterday. Was busy with human interactions. But I did start a big canvas…

I’m going to work on that separate from the 100 Day Project, even though it has sprung from it. I make the rules here.

Day 48: March 9

Plugging along.

Day 49: March 10

This week became about exploring color. I was working it out on the paper and letting the colors surprise me. I think in the near future I’d like to explore color more.

Finished works. 49/100
In progress.

100 Day Project: Week 6

100 Day Project, Projects

Day 36: February 26

Yesterday being entirely too windy for photos, this morning’s work time was spent catching up on documenting last weeks progress and posting the blog. Now we travel. I hope to touch paper later…

Day 37: February 27

It’s a slow start to this week. I started the bones of a new piece, but I cannot do much else. The camper isn’t stable enough to do lines and I don’t want to pull out the paints. I am thinking it’s about time to break out a canvas though. I feel I am ready to begin a body of work based on where I am at currently. My one thought is… “can I get myself to continue making small studies past the 100 Day Project?” Working out different ideas at the 5×7 level has given me many new ideas. I’m not one to work in a sketchbook, I like to put my energy into works not sketches. This is something of a compromise. I’m forced to explore “mistakes” (which I love) and follow them into new creative paths, but I’m not invested into a large piece.

Today I feel very confident in myself. I feel I’ve found a way to open it up to include exploration so I don’t feel like I have to sacrifice a medium or idea I love, nor do I have to keep working with one forever and always. I’m not looking at other art with doubt for my own choices.

I feel like I’m here. I can draw, paint, explore texture, symbolism… all in the same piece. Yes! Yes! Yes! One million times yes!

Detail of the line drawing from February 27, 2020.

Day 38: February 28

A lot and yet a little happening this morning. Been sitting here working for some time. Peace in my heart.

Day 39: February 29

Just a little bit today.

Day 40: March 1

Came very close to nothing happening today. Then I caught a second wind and prepped some pieces with white paint tonight. When you are not feeling it… you can always do groundwork. It’s also very clear if I don’t work in the morning, I’m going to struggle to do something.

Day 41: March 2

Very productive this morning. Working on a lot of pieces, but not finishing anything.

Ok… maybe I am finishing things. I don’t love everything I’ve made, but I’m glad I explored them.

Still going.

Took up a lot of the day.

I showed them in person for the first time to real live humans other than my husband this week. It was good practice being able to explain the process. WHAT? I used complete sentences about my work with people I didn’t know well and I think I even made sense. This process is working for me. Make art, daily. Preferably in the morning. Reflect on it using the blog. Who cares if anyone ever reads it, there’s an accountability that makes it happen, it works for me.

Day 42: March 3

That’s a wrap on week six. Explored color combinations and layering color combinations on textures this morning.

This weeks finished works.
In progress works.