Saturday, February 27, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Snowy Day Drawings and Stuff
it was this much....
i got an idea....
Woolly with a red tummy
Big Foot....really!
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Saturday is a Good Day
Stone heart necklace with recycled glass beads, pearls, and heart-shaped stone. Skrinky Dink bunny with clothing accessories made by Julija. Ceramic platter by artist Barbara Page from the shop at The Museum of the Earth in Ithaca, NY http://www.museumoftheearth.org/
Stone heart.
Orange first place bag from my sister made from recycled stuff! I love it! Check out her blog at http://partymice.blogspot.com/ for more fun things.
I enjoy looking at this card I found in my friend's store The Dress Shop http://www.thedressshop.com/
in East Aurora, NY. The reflection of the monkey's face is so sweet.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Treats in the Mail
Sydney Nolan postcard from Mac, Charity Hall http://charityhall.com/ brown box with a beautiful prize inside, blow up balls and girl with a light stamp from UGUiSU http://uguisu.ocnk.net/ and Selvedge magazine http://www.selvedge.org/ . Not a half bad week!
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Crane Fly ring by Charity Hall; my Valentines Day prize!
The postcard from Mac; soon he'll find out that the conference http://www.iuhpeconference.net/ is in Geneva, Switzerland not Geneva, New York!
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Sunday, February 7, 2010
No one does it like you do ( Marcel Dzama)
or go to:
http://www.moma.org/explore/multimedia/videos/4/248
From the Department of Eagles site http://departmentofeagles.com/media.html
Strange and wonderful. Trust me. I love his work.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Work Space
My work space is finally cleaned up and I found loads of neat stuff I had forgotten about. The little embroidery piece was done by my sister and was part of a scarf I used to wear. It was a real treat to find it!
Stuff I found while cleaning up my desk. The photo of my daughter canoeing was done by Chris Rice- I love the colors. And you can see the snail in my sister's embroidered piece.
I am inspired by Nara- this one reminds me of me.
Some memories don't fade.
Some Cool Clothes
Acorn Toss upcycled jacket with old kimono silk and pewter buttons
Acorn Toss front placket - pewter honey bee buttons by Randy Miller
This is the back of the Acorn Toss jacket. It was originally my daughter's Hollister sweatshirt. Now the original front is the back. Occasionally someone tells me I have it on backwards.
I really like this little flower piece on the collar.
Upcycled Robot t-shirt with kimono silk, brocade and enamel buttons.
Enamel buttons- I've had these buttons forever, it was worth the wait to find a neat place to put them.
Close up of the upper front- closure is a pin made from a covered bottle cap.
This is the back of the robot t-shirt, it was made from a Delia's t-shirt.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Mahatma Gandhi
From Where Three Dreams Cross: 150 years of Photography from India,
Pakistan and Bangladesh; Whitechapel Gallery
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Flying Across America or the First Mercy
Somehow he knew the directions to every bar in town; it was a long and strange conversation.
The three of them, lost, out of place, and ready to confess. Confess a string of hideous collections of everyday stupidities. Each confession sillier than the one before, on and on for five hours. None of this would have been interesting at all if they had shown an in flight movie, but since September 11th, movies were cancelled, this fact setting me off into a twisted turning cognitive process of determining how movies could be threatening to the public welfare. Instead the in-flight entertainment today was to be from the seat immediately behind me. The scenario was the three strangers suddenly become the three amigos, the three musketeers, the three stooges, three across, tic-tac-toe.
One of them, the lieutenant, was drinking his way across America- literally, a drink per state, from Pittsburgh to L.A., and with each drink another confession; the marriage counseling, the divorce, the tough love thing with his son, the “I’m not on this planet to please you, I’m on this planet to please myself” speech, the second marriage, the marriage counseling, the mentally ill sister, and another drink please. He was the one who knew the bar scene and as any good host would, educated his companions as to the locations and other sundry bar trivia.
The other two, social workers, the one seated in the middle confessing her degree was from a pass/fail school, thankfully, she added because she wasn’t a good student. She, ready to tell the secrets of her clients, autonomously of course and confessing numerous times that she had left her four year old at home to meet her brother and father for a reunion. Her brother, between jobs and in AA, was fragile and needed her. On she went, explaining that she hadn’t stayed current in her field, but felt inspired by meeting the last amigo, who was not only a MSW, but a MBA as well. This “blew her mind”, how could two fields so vastly different collide in this brilliant, selfless, wonderful man to become a “professional”. You could hear an under current of panting and sexual fantasy oozing through each word and from the pores of places we usually keep hidden away for special occasions.
And he, the last one, he with the captivated audience, explaining adnasum his confession- the why of how he had come to possess such expertise. You could almost see the halo of self-importance glow about him. His community work around end-of-life issues, the confession that death knows no age, and the importance of continuing education. The reluctant confession that although he isn’t actively a therapist, by credential he could still do this. This last confession dragged out of him by the middle one, exalting him to a Godlike status, putting the words in his mouth like a spouse of a hundred years.
All of this comfortable telling of self began to breakdown somewhere over the Midwest when the lieutenant foolishly excused himself to the lavatory. It began then, with him gone the other two left sitting there with the growing urge to batten down the pecking order into a more concrete form. To make themselves more grand relative to mister “general lieutenant confession”. They got him on details, a count; a drink tally to be exact. This being the amount of drinks consumed, his Achilles heel unsheved, made naked, vulnerable, hanging out there for the deflation, the death, and the humiliation.
“Yeah, if he is drinking this much he certainly has a problem..” “Oh, I wasn’t counting, but blah, blah, blah… the words melting into a court room, a judge and a jury and him crucified.
All these mumblings were another confession by the two, now jointly, a team splintered off from the original three now a tag team with a mission, with a secret code for an insidious upcoming attack. This new confession was twofold, one a statement of their admission of powerlessness over the situation and two, accidentally a statement of character, particularly slimy character.
Joining themselves together in typical odd men out fashion- make a mental note: never leave the company of a threesome unless one member of the group goes with you- within a matter of seconds the new team had a mission statement, a plan of attack, and mister General was labeled with the writing on the wall. He was done, over and finished, out on the street solo again. Being completely unaware of transactions occurring behind his back, it was his misfortune to pick up where he thought they had left off. His drunken freshness was met with a distinctive and collective “we know what is wrong with you” attitude. It started with a rapid changing of the subject, a stark message, no more of your confessions will be tolerated, you are well over your quota. Like an experiment in behaviorism, after a number of attempts and shocks, mister General Rat caught on and fell to a silence, a sad quiet loss of speaking, a solitary agony all his own- labeled, roped, tied and taped- you is done for Jack!
Celebrating the victory, the tag team high fived by developing a plan for watching the weekend football game on a big screen. The middle one that left the four year old behind asking the other one, dual degree self-important professional, when he was flying back home, -the day, the time, the flight, a string of precision questions that could only be asked by a guilty mother. Each question answered in the therapeutic tone of an accountant and with a touch of doubt, as though he had a lifetime of not knowing how to dress for the weather.
All in a day’s work; keeping everyone in their place is not an easy job.
Excerpt from the upcoming Seven Magnificent Mercies
The three of them, lost, out of place, and ready to confess. Confess a string of hideous collections of everyday stupidities. Each confession sillier than the one before, on and on for five hours. None of this would have been interesting at all if they had shown an in flight movie, but since September 11th, movies were cancelled, this fact setting me off into a twisted turning cognitive process of determining how movies could be threatening to the public welfare. Instead the in-flight entertainment today was to be from the seat immediately behind me. The scenario was the three strangers suddenly become the three amigos, the three musketeers, the three stooges, three across, tic-tac-toe.
One of them, the lieutenant, was drinking his way across America- literally, a drink per state, from Pittsburgh to L.A., and with each drink another confession; the marriage counseling, the divorce, the tough love thing with his son, the “I’m not on this planet to please you, I’m on this planet to please myself” speech, the second marriage, the marriage counseling, the mentally ill sister, and another drink please. He was the one who knew the bar scene and as any good host would, educated his companions as to the locations and other sundry bar trivia.
The other two, social workers, the one seated in the middle confessing her degree was from a pass/fail school, thankfully, she added because she wasn’t a good student. She, ready to tell the secrets of her clients, autonomously of course and confessing numerous times that she had left her four year old at home to meet her brother and father for a reunion. Her brother, between jobs and in AA, was fragile and needed her. On she went, explaining that she hadn’t stayed current in her field, but felt inspired by meeting the last amigo, who was not only a MSW, but a MBA as well. This “blew her mind”, how could two fields so vastly different collide in this brilliant, selfless, wonderful man to become a “professional”. You could hear an under current of panting and sexual fantasy oozing through each word and from the pores of places we usually keep hidden away for special occasions.
And he, the last one, he with the captivated audience, explaining adnasum his confession- the why of how he had come to possess such expertise. You could almost see the halo of self-importance glow about him. His community work around end-of-life issues, the confession that death knows no age, and the importance of continuing education. The reluctant confession that although he isn’t actively a therapist, by credential he could still do this. This last confession dragged out of him by the middle one, exalting him to a Godlike status, putting the words in his mouth like a spouse of a hundred years.
All of this comfortable telling of self began to breakdown somewhere over the Midwest when the lieutenant foolishly excused himself to the lavatory. It began then, with him gone the other two left sitting there with the growing urge to batten down the pecking order into a more concrete form. To make themselves more grand relative to mister “general lieutenant confession”. They got him on details, a count; a drink tally to be exact. This being the amount of drinks consumed, his Achilles heel unsheved, made naked, vulnerable, hanging out there for the deflation, the death, and the humiliation.
“Yeah, if he is drinking this much he certainly has a problem..” “Oh, I wasn’t counting, but blah, blah, blah… the words melting into a court room, a judge and a jury and him crucified.
All these mumblings were another confession by the two, now jointly, a team splintered off from the original three now a tag team with a mission, with a secret code for an insidious upcoming attack. This new confession was twofold, one a statement of their admission of powerlessness over the situation and two, accidentally a statement of character, particularly slimy character.
Joining themselves together in typical odd men out fashion- make a mental note: never leave the company of a threesome unless one member of the group goes with you- within a matter of seconds the new team had a mission statement, a plan of attack, and mister General was labeled with the writing on the wall. He was done, over and finished, out on the street solo again. Being completely unaware of transactions occurring behind his back, it was his misfortune to pick up where he thought they had left off. His drunken freshness was met with a distinctive and collective “we know what is wrong with you” attitude. It started with a rapid changing of the subject, a stark message, no more of your confessions will be tolerated, you are well over your quota. Like an experiment in behaviorism, after a number of attempts and shocks, mister General Rat caught on and fell to a silence, a sad quiet loss of speaking, a solitary agony all his own- labeled, roped, tied and taped- you is done for Jack!
Celebrating the victory, the tag team high fived by developing a plan for watching the weekend football game on a big screen. The middle one that left the four year old behind asking the other one, dual degree self-important professional, when he was flying back home, -the day, the time, the flight, a string of precision questions that could only be asked by a guilty mother. Each question answered in the therapeutic tone of an accountant and with a touch of doubt, as though he had a lifetime of not knowing how to dress for the weather.
All in a day’s work; keeping everyone in their place is not an easy job.
Excerpt from the upcoming Seven Magnificent Mercies
Pictures Of My Office
Stuff on my bulletin board, hey there's still some open space.
I Spy.........and one by one.....
Jackie, Julija, Mac, Me, Domo, Orange, Chocolate Face, Walden -Many of my favorites.
Drawings
Toys and stuff
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Craftland Goodies
I love this felted and beaded ring and wooden stamped bear magnet I got at Craftland in Providence RI
Shell and Bead Necklaces
Green Bowl with Shell Necklaces
Shell Necklaces
I love wearing this one. It seems so primitive because of the size of the shell.
Stuff My Sister Sent Me
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