The Furry Red Menace died this afternoon. Or rather, I approved his euthanasia. And of all the goofy things to think about at such a time, the thing that kept running through my mind was that Rajah hung on until we ran out of cat food. He just wasn't going to leave until he'd gotten every last bite out of life. Or at least out of the pantry.
Frank nodded hello at me as I sat down next to him. "I sure hope," he said anxiously, "that the train doesn't get hung up today too. I'm already late." Usually my seatmates on glassland's MAX train smile politely or nod without saying much when I sit down; it takes a couple of verbal sallies and a stop or two before they're comfortable chatting. But Frank launched into his story before I'd so much as set my purse down.
Thank you for slipping me back to a concept I'd somehow lost: Everything is fascinating.
Had planned to take Mom to dinner last night, thanks for delivering me from the thigh-high weeds that choke my yard and prompt dubious looks from the neighbors, but that didn't work out. Instead, I wound up at Catharine Newell's gorgeous house, looking at her art, talking life and crunching crostini. I had all kinds of fun watching her compress years of artistic evolution into some very cool new directions. I love watching the translation of self into art, and I can't wait to see this particular art translated into a gallery space.
Beware of wild impulses. Supposedly they lead to great new opportunities, but every so often they also lead to many strangers tramping through your house.
...and ceramics and metal and beads and fiber arts: The gigantic Portland crafts show is this weekend, Oregon Glass Guild is in hall B, and the quality of the work in all media is just outstanding.
Transparency is seductive. It's why we prefer diamonds to coal, windows to walls. I think that's why a lot of glass artists go miles to avoid it. It takes a very strong artistic voice to speak louder than transparent glass.
You can take the girl out of the newsroom, but you can't take the newsroom out of the girl, it seems. No matter how many days/weeks/months/years I know in advance, I don't zoom into high gear until it's down to the wire deadline time. And so I've got four pieces due at the gallery by 11am this morning, and I will just exactly make it...with three.
Beeguy is passionate about his bees and his honey. He and his lady bring jars and jars of the stuff to the Portland Farmers Market to taste--buckwheat, white clover, cherry, even coffee--and they'll sell you a bottle of whatever's in stock for $8. (I recommend the wild blackberry, which tastes like a good light honey but finishes like blackberry jam.)
The folks at Bullseye Gallery are brave souls, holding their Northlands Glass School benefit--a Glenfiddich whisky tasting--on both floors of the gallery. As far as I could tell nothing was broken, although I did hear a couple of clangs.