For Your Visual Pleasure

I'm bleeding (that's not the visual pleasure part) and one can neither paint nor mat paintings when bleeding. It's no big deal, really, just the glass equivalent of a paper cut, but it's on my right thumb, and while I can type while bleeding and holding a paper towel to my right thumb (talent, yes, I know), I can do little else.

So I've assembled a short photographic jaunt for you to enjoy. Have a lovely weekend, all; I'll be back next week with some exciting art news.

(Please note, some of these photos were shot with a digital camera, others with a 35mm Pentax K1000 that had an embarrassingly dusty lens, and I haven't got the time to clean them up in Photoshop, so forgive me.)

If you're driving through Winslow, Arizona, isn't it a requirement to get out and stand on a corner, even if you're not looking for any girls in flatbed Fords? For that matter, I didn't see any Fords in Winslow. Only Chevys. Odd, that.

Rancho San Rafel, a beautiful park in Reno, Nevada. If you ever visit, stop at the Wilbur D. May Museum. They have a shrunken head. Wilbur D. May was one of those pith-helmet-wearing safari-hunting explorers, and in the museum created from his possessions, yes, you read correctly, there is a shrunken head. Worth seeing.

This is the landscape of my childhood (well, from 9 to 18). I like cities, some of them quite a bit, but I carry this wide open space with me. Unfortunately, it's getting ever more crowded, but such is the way of the world.

These are the sunsets I grew up with. I think I took this picture way back then, too.

This is near Graeagle, California, which I had to look up to make sure I was spelling it correctly. Of all the photographs I have ever taken, this is my favorite. It's on some things in my CafePress shop, so if you like it, check out the shop.

This is for you, Catharina! I went on a trip to Salzburg, Austria, with my class while I was an exchange student in Germany. This photo stands out for me, because I still remember, 16 years later, that at the exact second I pushed the shutter, bells started ringing all around me. Beatiful, melodious bells.

Close to Home

Keep your fingers crossed for the people who live at my favorite place on earth. My thoughts are with those who have lost their homes or who might and the firefighters; may everyone stay safe.

Emerald Bay, Lake Tahoe, October 2001

I Dream in Ink

What is the world coming to? First I steal my own posts; now I'm stealing back my comments. But iHanna had an thought-provoking post on journal-keeping, and I wrote a long comment, and I have the pictures to go with it already, and voila! A blog post!

This is a composite photo of the shelf on which I kept my journals before the renovations. Now, unfortunately, I've had to pack them away to make room for art supplies, but someday I hope to bring them out again. They are my life, literally, on paper, and therefore, deserve a little place of honor, I think.

I’ve kept a journal since I was seven -- the first one was a Nancy Drew diary complete with lock and about three one-sentence entries. (One of those entries is about going to see Return of the Jedi with my dad. I was very excited. I wrote two sentences.). You can see that journal on the right, the thick ivory-ish book seventh down in the stack. I never throw my journals away. My biographers might need them. Or the great-grandchildren, anyway.

I've had tiny journals and huge journals (see the one on the far left?), fuzzy journals and leather journals, spiral bound and other-bound. Most of the journals from my teenage years are pink. The fourth (black with white polka dots) and seventh (blue shiny) journals from the left are the two I kept as an exchange student in Germany. That's when I started buying journals with cool designs and interesting textures. That's about when I started calling them journals instead of diaries, too. In college, I bought the funkiest journals I could find. On my road trip in 2002, I stopped in Oxford, Mississippi and bought a plain red journal with a magnetic closure, at Square Books. I think it cost $12. I filled that journal in four weeks. And I liked that journal so much that I detoured through Oxford again on the way back to the East Coast so I could go buy another one. I'm not kidding. In Philadelphia, I started looking for journals I could keep in my purse, journals that could take a lot of abuse. That's how I eventually started using Moleskines (well, okay, so, I read that Neil Gaiman uses them and that prompted me to try one). Moleskines, as journals go, are almost boring, but oh-so-sturdy and practical, and there is also something indefinably magical about them, which may be why they have such loyal fans. They feel like a writer's journal. As opposed to what, I don't know. Because they feel like artist's journals, too.

I am not sure I can even articulate what keeping a journal means to me, or how it's changed me, because it’s been such an integral part of my life. But I can tell you that when I don’t write in a journal regularly (and I’ve occasionally gone up to six months), I start to feel quite fragmented. I try hard to write morning pages, although often, it's only morning in Hawaii by the time I get around to it. I understand my own feelings better if I write them down. In fact, I often don't even know how I feel about things until I write in my journal. Writing is how I process my life, in the way they say dreaming is our mind's way of processing. My journals are dreamlike -- they ramble, they float, they can be surreal, and often, they probably would make no sense to anyone but me. But I don't know. I don't let anyone read my journals. If I did, I wouldn't write the way I do and they wouldn't work anymore.

See, my minute-to-minute thoughts are very analytical, very curious, very problem-solving, and rarely directed inward. I’m a textbook INTJ, if that helps explain. I'm one of those people who’s constantly asking “Why?” and "How?" and "What?" like a little child… why is the sky blue… why is the bridge built like that... what is electricity (I made my husband explain that one in great detail)... how does the economy work... I usually have three or four tracks of thought going at the same time, most of which have nothing to do with me or my life. (Which explains the vacant stare so often seen on my face. I'm probably thinking about agriculture in Antarctica.)

My journal writing, on the other hand, is almost pure emotion. I do sometimes actually use them to keep track the events that have happened in my life...

... or in the world around me...

....or just as catch-all scrapbooks, when I didn't have the time or interest in keeping up a big scrapbook...

... or even approximate Latin translations of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." But they are usually, long, rambling explorations of my feelings, sometimes venting, sometimes exulting, sometimes pondering. Because I already know what happened, you see. So my journal is where I get in touch with myself. Sounds so cliched, but it's what I do. In fact, the emotions in the words are often so intense that, ten years later, I can step right back into events I forgot ever happened.

So you see what keeping a journal means to me. My journals are my life.

(Incidentally, I know these photos are all from my college journals, and I have no idea why that's all I shot, but like I said, the rest are in the attic now, so that's all I've got except for these.)

Befores and Afters, for Real This Time

In a fit of "I-can't concentrate-until-I-get-things-organized" I cleaned the studio yesterday and had the good sense to take photos of it before I let it get all messy again. I'd still like to improve the storage setup, so more of my supplies can be tucked out of sight, and coordinate the furniture some more, but for now, you can consider these the Official Befores and Afters (more renovation pictures way back in these posts and here and here).

BEFORE

AFTER

My new, lovingly hand-oiled oak desk and hutch. It's red oak, and, unfinished, had this dusky rose color, but unfortunately, finishing the desk meant getting rid of that color, and I had no choice, because I am always spilling things. A shame.

The funniest thing about this picture, in my opinion, is the Diet Mountain Dew, because I swear I hadn't had a Mountain Dew in ten years before this week. I'm a Diet Dr. Pepper girl myself, but when I run out, I need something carbonated, anything, as long as it doesn't have sugar. I just don't like the aftertaste of sugary sodas, which is also funny, since most people say the opposite. But at least Splenda doesn't ferment in your mouth.

The thing that is characteristic of me is that there are three beverages right next to each other. I've been known to have up to four at one time, and I will drink periodically from each one. You never know what you might have a taste for at any given second. And those beverages are also right above the computer. Also characteristic. I like living dangerously.

(That's, clockwise from the bottom left: a drawing from when I was five that my mom framed and recently gave to me (but I broke the glass), in which Cinderella apparently has a baseball glove on her right hand, which I think is just so cool; my college graduation gift from my grandmother, which really should also have glass over it; a beautiful art heart from Tinker with a golden Gypsy singing to the stars; a cool ceramic hanging that I bought from the local high school kids at a craft fair; and a 50 cent Paddington Bear print I found at a thrift store. You know, now that I think about it, maybe it was Paddington Bear who inspired my love of travel. Hmmmm.)

As you can see, we have yet to put outlet/switch/open-hole-in-the-wall covers over anything.

My work surface, complete with freshly stretched watercolor paper (which is why I had time to clean). By the time I realized the first shot I took was blurry and came back to take a second, it was getting dark, but this is usually a nicely lit place to work. It's my new drafting table, which is cheap and flimsy and handles the abuse of spilled ink and my elbows very well without complaining, too much, although every once in a while it shifts suddenly, as if there were a small earthquake, which is quite nerve-wracking when I have a freshly-dipped loaded pen in my hand. But hey, life is meant to be an adventure.

The treasure chest holds my good pen nibs. Appropriate, I'd say.

The mousepad I designed and the monthly calendar that does its collateral duty beautifully: soaking up the coffee I spill.

The magnets I unceremoniously stole from the fridge.

I've fixed the links on the last post. Have a good Wednesday, my friends.

Alison's Pocket-Sized Internet Travel Guide

Al and I are heading to Philadelphia (New Jersey, actually) for Father's Day, and we'll get to accompany my sister Olivia to her very first Phillies game, which is an honor and should be great fun. I just can't wait to see her. She's such a joyous baby.

I've been painting away, so I haven't been exploring the Internet as much as I usually do, but here's a few new lands to visit:

VisuWords: I already use Dictionary.com and Thesaurus.com on a daily basis, but this may become my new favorite tool. Be warned, though: it requires a strong Internet connection. (Via StumbleUpon, which itself is a terrific tool of serendipity, like browsing in a never-ending bookstore. If you sign up, I'm radiogirl.)

Arts & Letters Daily: A collection of links to current articles of an assorted variety. I feel smarter just looking at this page, much less reading the articles.

My Drinking Bunnies: a fantastic stop-motion music video. (I don't know where I found this link, so I can't give credit; if it was you, my apologies.) The song is okay, but the construction and execution of the paper sets and characters are awe-inspiring and brilliant. (While you're in a stop-motion mood, there's the United Airlines dragon commercial. If you haven't seen it already, go watch it immediately. In fact, it's the kind of thing I think I should start every day watching.)

Poo-tique: my, oh, my. I can't believe I'm posting a link to a site that involves poo... but you just have to go check out this paper made of elephant dung. (Via Daily Candy.)

Enjoy and have a great weekend, my friends.

Eight Things

I’ve been tagged for “8 Random Facts About Myself.” What a tremendous compliment. Thank you, Mrs. Nesbitt…

The rules are as follows (I’m cutting and pasting this part):

1. I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.
2. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own post about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your post, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

All righty, then. Eight things.

1. I collect books. This isn’t so much a random fact about me as a central part of who I am. Right now, I have more than 1,300 books, most of which I’ve read, many of which I’ve re-read more than once. There are more books, not included in that number, from my childhood, still at my mother’s house. These days, I mostly borrow books from the library, but eventually, I will start buying again.

I can’t not read – when I was about 11, I used to bring a book to read while I ate my breakfast cereal, but I had a tendency to run late, so I was forbidden to bring any more books to the breakfast table on school days. So I read the cereal box instead, ingredients list and everything. To this day, if I don’t have a book, I’ll pick up whatever’s closest, whether it's a can of air freshener or a brochure on the pancreas, wherever I am, and read it.

My intention is to someday live in a house with a library.

2. I almost always watch the credits in a movie theater, because if I worked on a movie, I’d want people to read my name.

3. In my 32 years, I’ve lived at 25 addresses in 15 cities in 4 states and 3 countries. I like moving, even though 1,300 books are heavy and require a lot of boxes.

4. I hate the sound of metal scraping on metal or porcelain – it causes me extreme physical discomfort -- which means that I cannot sharpen the knives in our household and, as much as I love a good sword-fighting scene in a movie, I usually have to plug my ears. It’s getting worse as I get older, and I have no idea how to stop it.

5. I prefer not to use a mouse. I like keyboard shortcuts because I type very quickly (even though I’ve never actually learned how to type) and I can just fit the commands into my typing. But as computers get more “user-friendly” and, therefore, complicated, it’s almost impossible not to use a mouse, so I’ve started to give in.

6. I have a fervent love for the sport of baseball but I have no interest in memorizing statistics, I don’t follow trades, and I can’t remember the players’ names. So I usually have no idea who the people are at bat, even on my own team, until they’ve been around for a while, and then just as I start to cheer for them by name, they have a weird tendency to get themselves traded. (I miss you, Bobby Abreu).

7. I have flown approximately 500,000 miles on commercial flights in my lifetime –since I was a baby, but as an adult, I flew 60,000 miles in one year alone -- but for whatever reason, I only signed up for frequent fliers’ programs in time to collect credit for about 75,000 miles. I started to develop a fear of flying in November 2001, but I still have a burning desire to get a private pilot’s license. I also clean the house from top to bottom before I fly anywhere.

8. I not only still have, but still listen to most of my mixed tapes from high school and college.

So now comes the tagging part. But – here’s random fact number nine – I’m not good at selecting people (assembling our wedding guest list was torture for me and I still regret not inviting certain people), SO I’m breaking the rules and tagging everyone. If you haven’t done this already, it’s time.

Tall Ships

I should NOT have gone out on Friday, recuperating me, into 100-degree, humid weather, to stand in the sun for three hours. But, oh, it was worth it, to see the parade of tall ships coming in for Sail Virginia in for Harborfest. The heat wiped me out, and as a result, I never got back to board the ships later in the weekend, and I regret that, but I am so glad I got to see them come in, because it was... magnificent.

My pictures cannot even begin to do them justice - my spot on the harbor was just at the point where they were furling their sails and getting a little help from the tugs -- but oh, it was magic.

The GORCH FOCK II ** 294' 3 Masted Barque ** Germany




The PRINCE WILLIAM ** 195' Square Rigger Brig ** England




The ALLIANCE ** 3 masted gaff rigged Schooner ** Yorktown Virginia




Can't identify this one. I've looked through the pictures on the web site, and I can't find it.
But it was beautiful.




I can't identify this ship either, with the red sails, but I thought this looked cool -- old and new.

Ghost Ship

(I actually tried sharpening this in Adobe Photoshop Elements, but it lost the mysterious quality, and became a picture of just a ship under a spray of water.)

I think the best part, though, about the whole thing was coming home and reading a week-old newspaper article I had set aside, to discover that Captain Horatio Sinbad, the owner of my favorite ship, the small, sweet Meka II, built it in his backyard.

One of my dreams is to build a wooden sailboat by hand and sail it around the world. Never mind that I don't know how to sail. I'll learn. And now, I know it's possible to build not just a sailboat, but a brigantine. We'll need a little bit bigger backyard, though. I don't think Al will let me knock down the garage in order to build a ship.