The 3D target setup
The 3D target range during scoring
thursday night league
thinking through my fingers
“Writing, to me, is simply thinking through my fingers.” Isaac Asimov said that. So when Mr Speed requested an “art piece” for his Crimbo gift, I got to thinking.
I thought, cut and pasted and painted off and on for most of November, part of December. Mr Speed was banished from my office/studio, what with a secret work-in-progress going on and all.
I got the words for the piece, a lyric from one of his songs, early on. “I tell a story; you hear a story.” Soon after that, I knew the story I hear is about the distance in me between east and west coasts. Cut. Paste. Paint. I’d get so far, be almost done, but then I’d somehow lose it, and it would be ruined. Very often, I soon realized, it is because I really don’t know how to paint, even though I am an art school dropout.
So I’d let the piece moulder for a few days and loathe myself, then see a solution, and carry on. Layer after layer, scraping, assessing, trying something new, listening for completion. It became a thick palimpsest of thinking through my fingers.
Finally, it was the day of receiving, and it was time to give it up and away. I hate the final piece, but loved the process of getting there, and learned a lot. Mr Speed claimed happiness.
The next day, I began a new canvas, building on the thoughts and experience of the previous one. I remembered some stuff I used to know. I ruined this one a few times too, but brought it back a little more successfully. Progress! It’s not done quite yet, but I don’t hate it. I want to cannibalize the first piece for its now-rare and dear ceramic letters, to make for Mr Speed something truer. I have finally gotten his consent — if I document the first one. Really well. (The light is crap now, but that’s a cruddy shot of the first one as a placeholder.)
Then, typically, I went a little crazy, and ordered a tabletop easel and some better-quality paints. I started another canvas. It makes me so happy to see it, and it’s ever so much easier to work on an easel. I’ll keep you apprised of my output. Thank you for your indulgence.
crow says
First light, bright blue sky, bare trees, crow
Trying so hard not to type “So much depends upon the blue watering can…”
Understandably, my little buddy looks a bit chilly.
hiding out, content
the cat in a box archetype
sometimes, you can see more in a reflection
the pond on the grounds of an old estate, now demolished, on the grounds of an even older farmstead, of which remains only the rock walls and cemetery, whose tombstones document the Ellis family who lived and died there in the 1800s
Sometimes, I don’t even know what I mean to say until I see the picture. The real world is hazy and bright, overexposed, but reflections in the water show what is. At that particular moment.
faceweight
when I look at this, I hear a sound: grahhhhh
I forgot I even took this photo. It was in the construction zone of the hospital where Mr Speed had a minor repair back in October. On Halloween day, actually. It is somewhat odd to see people in scrubs and costumes, going about their hospital business.
I think I can kraft again
drunken krafting creatures emerge
new horizons
overcast day on the Gulf of Mexico, Gasparilla Island
hey, baby, it’s the 2nd of july
I always liked sparklers the best
Moths beat patterns against the light of the window. I try to explain the title of this post to Mr. Speed (pictured) and conflate X and Sonic Youth. Where is my mind? Nothing is explained. We talk at length, in the dark of the front porch. The night air is mild, with astonishingly few biting insects. Lula looms behind us, a hundred-pound presence poised to … do dog things. Part of the family. The cats range in and out of focus, close, and then, off. It is a perfect moment. The stars, trees silhouetted, all the projects and the comforts of the home directly behind us. Don’t forget what is important, why you are here.
night archery
nancyland.com 