A note from Ernie
September 30, 2009
And a note from Ernie Monstrocat’s landlady:
This morning a perfect stranger walked up to me and gave me money. (And I WASN’T wearing my raggedy old studio clothes) “You’re Ernie’s landlady, right? This is to get Ernie to Atlanta.”
Give Ernie a Lift. Please?
September 29, 2009
Ernie, is that my package of ham in your luggage?
It’s time to pull out the big guns, ’cause Ernie needs to get to his new family in Atlanta. So…wanna help a cat-about-town in need of a ride?
Ernie was scheduled to fly to Atlanta to take up his position of studio cat (the perks include his own little girl and a dog to fetch and carry). We’d gotten a clean bill of health from his vet, most everyone stopped in to say goodbye, and I got ready to (sniff) take him to the airport.
Yesterday I got a call from Ernie’s aunt. “The plane ticket’s more expensive than I thought. You’ll have to find some other way to get him there or find him another home,” she said.
Clunk.
Gambler
September 26, 2009
Gambles, especially foolish, futile ones, always steal a part of my heart.
Gloriously autumn day, the first really brilliant day of color in glassland today, so I flipped up the garage door and set to work. Or tried to. The first spiders of fall slowed me down quite a bit.
Conversations with light
September 24, 2009
Light and I have been in conversation as far back as I can remember. Most times, I just listen. Sometimes I get to talk back. Rarely–too rarely–we sing.
And it’s beginning to feel as though we’ll sing, soon.
When we sing, the light becomes a tangible thing, flowing like water, etching everything in its path, and I finally, blindingly, understand in my bones the definition of “illumination.”
Ernie, soon to be world traveler
September 22, 2009
“Is Ernie busy this afternoon?” the caller asked, “I thought we could hang out together, if he’s free.”
I looked at Ernie Monstrocat, snoring on a chair in the studio. “What exactly did you think he’d be doing?” I inquired, “Taking a meeting at the White House?”
“Well, it’s Ernie,” she said, “You never know…”
Calling all you single girls…
September 21, 2009
…ever think of applying product marketing tactics to the task of finding a mate?
Chrissy Conant has. Chrissy’s an artist who builds graphic installations that define her inner fears and musings.
That’s graphic as in “I’m not sure I’d bring a lunch to the gallery…unless I wanted to bring it twice.” She’s done a “girl rug,” which essentially looks like her, skinned and stuck in front of the fireplace. It’s actually kind of attractive in a Silence of the Lambs sorta way.
Flutterbye
September 18, 2009
“I just love the way you put faeries into all your work. That’s what makes it soooo special,” she gushed, “I luuuuuuuv faeries.”
She was looking at “I Dreamt the Jacobean Rose,” one of several samples I’m pulling together for a prospective client and, frankly, it ain’t of a faery. Especially NOT a fashionably flirty flower faery. (say that fast five times)
I don’t want to stamp on anybody’s religion and I’m not making fun of people who luuuuuv faeries (well, maybe I am). But I have a sneaking suspicion that if there really are non-insectivorous winged beings hanging around peoples’ gardens, they SPIT on cute and fluffy. A little less giggly nectar-sipping and a whole lot more pounce-chew-gulp.
Hmmmm. Some day I might sculpt my version of real faeries. It won’t be pretty.
Citizen Bane
September 17, 2009
Somewhere along the line we’ve invented a term, “citizen journalist,” to denote bloggers and other social mediasts who report without a net. Somebody pays them a measly sum to write about stuff that’s happening around them.
When I say measly sum, I mean it–$3 to $7 per story seems to be the going rate, which works out to one or two cents per word–and this is apparently justified because the citizen journalist is under no obligation to actually get it right.
Cooper-Bresson
September 17, 2009
OK, I get street photography, photojournalism, documentary photography, pictorialism, fotografie verité, but here’s a new one: Fotografie felinité.
You’ve probably already heard about him, but a cat named Cooper, living in Seattle, strolls the streets near his home weekly, with a small camera strapped to his neck. It snaps a shot every two seconds; later, the people he owns run through the images, select the ones they like, and publish them on his website for him.
Empty statements
September 14, 2009
This weekend I indulged myself and focused on other artists’ work for a change. It broke a couple of logjams in the way I’m thinking about my own work, and it also clarified a personal preference: I really can’t stand “statement” art.
Strolled two museums and five galleries and got thoroughly sick of socially conscious, whack-you-over-the-head-with-a-message, politically correct art. (probably not a good thing in Portland)