. . . created mobile gardens

Ah, yes, hope springs eternal. . . so in the hope that I will sell the house sometime, my gardening has been limited this spring to cleaning up and keeping the weeds at bay. Nothing new has been planted in the ground, not even to fill gaps left plants that didn't make it over the winter.






Everything I have planted is in pots. I know I will live to regret that when the weather heats up to 98 in the shade with oppressive humidity and blood sucking insects don't let me get further than a step or two out of the house before they attack. I will still need to water those pots.






I was inspired to create this wreath by something similar made by the designers at Red Cedar Gardens in Stillwell. It's my favorite place to visit for gardening inspiration. Most of the stuff I used was stuff I already had. The falling-apart grapevine wreath had been hanging out in the yard for a year. I stuffed it with some dirt, planted the little mossy things, crammed in a bunch of dried moss, and added the candle. Cool? I spritz it with my water bottle and hope that it will survive the summer.

. . . were experimentally inspired

The last few days have reminded me of when I first started making art. Everything was an experiment, everything was new, and I didn't know anything about anything.






Like then, I'm having fun playing with various techniques that are new to me. In fact, I think I'm making them up as I go along. These techniques involve deli paper, wax paper, tissue paper, vinyl shelf paper, brayers, rubbing with my hand (I have a blister on my pinky), old envelopes, canvas, foam core, whatever else I can find at hand. . .





or underfoot, because my basement is a horrible mess. I can't find any tools, because they are buried under piles of papers. All my scrapers and pallette knives are caked with gesso, paint, ink. No brushes have been injured in this quest, however. Larger pieces of printed tissue paper and canvas dry on the floor. You may someday see footprints in my art.






And, like way back when, I'm having varying degrees of success. Some of these paintings are just awful, others are just okay, and there are even a few that I like. But most importantly, I'm playing, learning, inspired again, and it just doesn't matter.






In between bursts of creativity, I'm reading Carlos Ruiz Zafron's The Angel's Game. I love the following passage:

. . . there are a lot of people with talent and passion, and many of them
never get anywhere. This is only the first step toward achieving anything in life. Natural talent is like an athlete's strength. You can be born with more or less ability, but nobody can become an athlete just because he or she was born tall, or strong, or fast. What makes the athlete, or the artist, is the work, the vocation, and the technique. The intelligence you were born with is just ammunition. To achieve something with it you need to transform your mind into a high-precision weapon. . . (E)very artist's life is a small war or a large one, beginning with oneself and one's limitations. To achieve anything you must first have the ambition and then talent, knowledge, and finally the opportunity.

. . . enjoyed doing nothing

That's what it feels like. I have another whole day and a half to enjoy myself before I have to start thinking again about CD interest and where to put it and making sure I don't screw something up inadvertently.


It also feels like my creativity has split. I'm soldiering on through it by painting small pieces, monoprinting even smaller pieces, and sometimes completely ruining good pieces by going way too far.


This piece is going to my friend at work, Jan, who has no trouble whatsoever asking for something. I like that in a person. Just tell me what you want; I will either say yes or no. No problem. It's a companion piece to another one I gave her last week. It's a unofficial monoprint, 4 x 6" . I wish I hadn't put the circles on it now. I went too far.

. . . met a friend

My internet friend Miki Willa e-mailed me a few weeks ago to tell me she was going to be in Kansas City last weekend for a wedding. We met for lunch and a photo outing last Sunday, and had a great time. It was so good to visit with a fellow artist whose taste for pictures runs similar to mine. As it turns out, the bride, a relative of sorts to Miki, married a young man whose great-grandparents lived in my hometown. His great-grandfather was the mayor for almost all the years I grew up there, and we were all members of the same church. They lived a block from my parent's house. I knew the groom's grandparents and played with his father when we were both young. Small world, indeed.






I took Miki to all my favorite photo places. The first place was River Market, where we found a brick building being demolished. Lots and lots of photo ops there. . .






then we went to the West Bottoms. We didn't cover much territory there, because each site was just ripe for rusty decaying photos. . .






Miki and her family stayed on the Country Club Plaza, absolutely the most iconic place in Kansas City and a lovely location. I told her that I would take her to see all the lowlights of this city, and I think I lived up to that promise. We ate lunch at Ponacks, one of the best Mexican restaurants here, on Southwest Boulevard, and took pictures of the old brewery behind it and underneath Interstate I-35 and then, a bit further down the street, the old grain elevator.







The day was rainy and gloomy and I was driving my daughter's gigantic Tahoe, very unfamiliar and different from my little car, which was being repaired. After I dropped Miki off at the hotel, I misjudged the distance between two other SUVs and ripped the mirror off one and scraped Stephanie and Andy's car down the passenger side. Just another blip on the radar screen of my life.


These are just the black-and-white pictures I took. There are dozens. I can't wait to see what pictures Miki came up with. . . probably the same things. Thanks, Miki, for being my snooping-around-KC friend. And if anyone else wants to visit, be sure to call. I'm available as a tour guide.

. . . were a grandmother

In honor of Mother's Day tomorrow, I'm showing off my little ones. In fact, I don't think I've ever shown a picture of Nora (above) before. What a little sweetheart she is. Her first birthday will be July 9. My sister Ann knitted her darling cap. The hat and the baby are perfect.






And here's Joey. . . it's been quite a while since I've put up a picture of him. He's growing up so fast, doing everything he can to keep up with his big sister. He turned three at the end of March. He seems so much older than three, though. He's very smart, just a joyful kid.






And here's my mom and Betsy. My mom is 83 and Betsy is five. Doesn't Mom look great? Betsy is a dandy. . . I think she's wearing multiple layers of clothing for some kind of fashion statement. Wisely, her mother chooses her battles, and what Betsy wears isn't one of them. Betsy is also very smart and beautiful, and she will start kindergarten in the fall.

I miss having the time to spend with them. Joey and Betsy are great company; Nora is still a bit uncommunicative, but she is such a happy baby that I know she's going to be a lot of fun, too. Thanks to both my kids, Matt and Stephanie, and to my son-in-law, Andy, for being such great people. I'm proud of them all. It's easy being their mom.

. . . offered a bargain

If someone would buy this garden, I would thrown the house in for free.

. . .took a break

at least from taking pictures of ruins, rust, and remains. . .












I've thought it before, that I would quit looking for old nasty stuff . . . but then I come up with pictures like these. Enlarge them to really get the effect that I do.













I wonder if taking these pictures have any effect on how I paint. . .









and many times I wish I could paint the photograph.







I doubt I'll be able to resist looking for rust, ruin, remains.