Time Flies

Just the other day, a friend of mine who writes a blog about the various places she and her family live thanks to her husband's career mentioned that she hadn't written a word since their recent transfer to Australia. It made me realize that I haven't written anything for a fair piece either. It's funny how life gets in the way like that. I find that making art and writing take second place in my life to actual activity. If I have a choice between gardening or painting, I will choose gardening 95% of the time. I was made for motion. I am bad at holding still. Most importantly, I like having my hands in the dirt. I'm not particularly good at landscaping. My creativity doesn't seem to extend that far. I am, however, very good at growing flowers. Beauty fascinates me no matter what dress she is wearing, but I am most comfortable in her presence when she is wearing overalls and a floppy hat.

Happy Birthday to Me!

Most years, I get a great calendar from one of my friends for Christmas. I'm easy to please. I like everything from kittens to landscapes and most points in between, but in 2012, I got screwed in the calendar department. I started out ok with a freebie from my mechanic featuring classic cars--yes, I love the romance of the vintage automobile almost as much as I love kittens--but my husband liked it so much that he swiped it for his office and left in its place some cheeseball excuse for a calendar from our insurance company that offers monthy health tips and crappy photos of people exercising. I know I could have gone to the dollar store and got a decent replacement, but 2012 was one of those years that was half spent by the time I really thought about my calendar. So, with 2013 looming large, I decided to treat myself to a birthday present that will make up for the great calendar debaucle of 2012. Thanks to George Rodrigue, I am going to have calendar happiness for a whole year, and I plan to mat and frame some of my favorites for life long enjoyment. Happy Birthday, me!

Free Falling

Summer has begun to fade into autumn here in South Louisiana. Though I won't be expecting the brilliant fall color I experienced in Wisconsin, I am looking forward to milder temperatures, mums in my garden, and candy corn in the stores. Fall is by far my favorite season. I loved harvest time growing up on the farm, and I loved going back to school and seeing my friends after a hard summer's work. These days, I look forward to the harvest from my garden and my fruit and pecan trees, and to meeting my new students. Unfortunately for my blog, fall is a busy time for me, so I don't spend as much time either painting or writing. I don't mind that much though since I am so caught up in the business of enjoying my life.

Stopped Chasing Carrots

I have long admired and coveted this painting by my good friend Carolyn Phillips, so when my husband and I made our latest move to Houma, I decided to treat myself to a house-warming gift. It's not just the fact that the rabbit looks like he would feel like velveteen if you touched him, though that was a big part of my attraction to this piece. The thing that makes me really appreciate art is when it tells a story. OK, I'll be honest, it's when it allows me to make up a story. The story can be simple or complex, deeply meaningful or just silly.

By the time we moved back to Houma, this painting was telling a story that I could relate to. When I look at this painting, I see a rabbit who is the subject of a great experiment. For years this rabbit has been leaping and running, trying to get the carrots that dangle just out of his reach. Now and then, he gets one, but that just makes him want more. In the background, a group of observers watches. Then one day, the rabbit says, "The hell with it," and just stops chasing the carrots and adopts a position of rest. This could be a metaphor for my life and probably for the lives of many others. During my 20s, I spent a lot of time and energy chasing those proverbial carrots. In my 30s, I wizened up a little and realized what a waste that was. Society can look on through their little window all they want, but I am focused on getting my zen back these days. What I like most about this painting is that every time I start getting a little crazy and start thinking that I should be working harder, chasing down success a little more vigorously, I have this plush bunny to remind me that carrots aren't all they're cracked up to be. It's wisdom straight from the brush of a good friend and truly talented artist.

Wine is Not Enough

This past week I learned what it feels like to be a sitting duck. Growing up in Wyoming, I learned how to deal with just about every natural disaster known to man. I know what to do in event of blizzard, tornado, flash flood, prairie fire, and even the occasional earthquake, but nothing in Wyoming really prepares you for a hurricane. Out there, we build our houses to stand up to wind that regularly gust to tropical storm force, we dig storm cellars to hide in in the event of a tornado, and we build on the sides or tops of hills in case of flood. Since Louisiana has no hills, and the storm cellar would just flood anyway, I have to say that living here leaves me feeling both exposed and unprepared at all times.
Thankfully Isaac passed over us here in Houma without much ado, and I was as prepared as I could be, so this hurricane was a non-event for us. That doesn't mean that I wasn't at maximum stress level. I discovered, however, that my cats have three levels of storm alert just like the weather channel.
Sarah = high alert
Bonnie = aware
Petey = comatose
I suppose this only makes sense since Petey is Cajun born, Bonnie is from Vicksburg, and Sarah is a Yooper. As for this transplant, I need to either take lessons from Zen Master Petey or lay my hands on some Xanax before the next storm.

The Cat in Asian Art

Everybody knows that the Japanese love Hello Kitty, but there are two lesser known feline icons that I fell in love with during my time in Asia. The first is Maneki Neko, the Japanese beckoning cat. One of the first things you learn when you move to Asia is that you do NOT beckon people to you using a palms up gesture like we do in the West. Thus, Maneki Neko is not waving to you from the counter at your local Chinese restaurant; he is actually beckoning good luck into the establishment.

The second icon of feline fame in Asia is Tamasiro. The story goes that the original Tamasiro was a kitten that someone left on a Japanese subway train. The kitten was adopted by the engineers and has lived on the train ever since. He has also a hugely successful cartoon marketing tool. My favorite thing about Tamasiro? While it is considered incredibly rude to beckon with a palm up, it is apparently just fine to flip someone the bird---look closely at the purple slippers.

It was really interesting being a cat owner in Korea. In Japan, cats are somewhat revered as a general rule. In China, they are hated and despised---unless battered and fried. Koreans are still trying to come to terms with the domestic cat. Some see them as rodents to be poisoned like rats. Others are adopting them as pets following the Western model that many Koreans try so hard to emulate. Most Koreans who visited my apartment were both fascinated and terrified by Petey and Bonnie. Even my vet was a little awe struck on the first visit. "American cat very big!" I had to stop myself from saying, "Yes, and I'm not even from Texas."

In Addition

Years ago, a decorator friend told me that people should move their art around at least once a year. Otherwise, they sort of forget what they have and start to take the pieces for granted. This is never a problem in my house. Right now, several of my own pieces, along with a few pieces of my furniture are on display at Southdown Plantation Museum. This gives me a great opportunity to try out different pieces in different places and to finally get to some projects that I have been putting off since we moved. I just finished reframing a piece by Laurie Ceesay titled Blue Bob and added it and another called Pele to Sarah's room. I should be ashamed to admit that these are $5 Walmart frames that I painted and sanded to add a vintage feel to the contemporary pieces, but I am not. I change the frames on my art as often as I change the pieces themselves, so paying frame shop prices is not an option for me. (Not to mention, it makes the art harder to swap out if it is professionally framed.)

In this same vein, I just finished reading Wendy Rodrigue's latest blog, which offers a much more eloquent explanation of why artists are a decorator's worst nightmare. It's a great story, with great photos. The only thing missing is a cat (insert smile and wink here).  http://www.wendyrodrigue.com/2012/08/painting-and-living-again.html