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Today I am up early, despite being assured that it is indeed Saturday.  Why I have chosen this day of days to be up before dawn, I have no idea — but I am determined to make good use of my time.  So far I have crossed “Drink the perfect cup of coffee” off my list.

For my next act, I think I will write a list of what I hope to accomplish this weekend.  In fact, I think I will put “Write List” on my previous list just so I can enjoy that pinch of accomplishment when I cross it off.

There is an art to making lists, see… the trick is to put a few things down that are on the “quick and easy” category so you don’t feel overwhelmed by the monumental items that don’t go away as easily.  (If you are a list maker, you know you do this.  Admit it.  There is no shame, you’re among friends.)  For example, for a while I had “Paint House” on my list.  Well, lists.  Several.  It took about two months to actually finish*, so it lasted through a couple “To Do’s” before it was “Ta Done”.  I had to balance things out by throwing every normal chore I could into the mix.  (“Wash dishes” and “Do laundry” were frequent flyers.  It was only depressing on the days when I couldn’t cross those off.)

Of course the parent to the “To Do” list is the “To Do” pile, which I also have.  But just one.  (Mostly because the three that I had before finally grew together at the base and formed one large stalagmite — or is it stalagtite??  Eh, it’s all good til it starts developing its own center of gravity.)  In the spirit of sharing and openness, here’s a sliver of a photo:

sharing is caring

(If I knew ya better, you’d get to see more.  But let’s take things slowly, shall we?)

To be fair, there are parts of my studio that are actually quite clean and organized : }  Behold my flat files**:

flat files -- behold the clean

This is my coolest studio organizational thing — made from sock drawers from IKEA : )  (Yeah, even after repeatedly explaining *why* I wanted a dozen sock drawers to the associate, I still got the “kooky lady” look.  But I got two great sets of flat files for cheap, and all he got was another “kooky lady” story to tell his friends — who won this one, buddy?!***)

*Epilogue:  the house is now in a perpetual state of “almost done”, which is its own level of hell.

** closely cropped to appear clean.  No animals were harmed in the process.  Unless they jumped on top of said files during cleaning, in which case I kicked their butts.  Gently.

*** me.  Unless he got a really great story.  No… still me.

My answer — you wanna math problem I can relate to??

If there are 12 dishes in the sink, and it’s my night to wash, how many extra pieces did everyone suddenly “discover” around the house if it now takes me 25 minutes to finish my chore?

Unfortunately the answer to this problem is unpredictably infinite, so there is no real number except to say that when the cupboard is completely bare you know you have reached the limit as n->infinity.

(her actual problem related to matting a 5×7 picture where the mat was twice as wide at the top & bottom than it is on the sides.  My answer: nobody mats a picture that way because it looks stupid.  Not even math book writers.  What are they teaching kids these days, anyway?!?)

But I digress.  The point is, as artists, what can we learn from this?

Answer: If you want something to be less hideous, you cut it into little pieces and it becomes more palatable.  Maybe even downright good.

In a recent post* I challenged you to rediscover a long lost piece of artwork that got stuck before it ever saw the light of day, and find a way to bring it to completion.  Preferably in a manner that not only takes away the guilt of having ignored it for so long, but even — dare I say — makes you [sniff] proud to call it your own.  Of course I wouldn’t do this without taking up the challenge myself.  So…

here was my starting point:

This piece didn’t come out the way I had hoped.  It lacked inspiration.  The etching came out too detailed and blotchy, and felt harsh.  But I was at a loss as to how to fix it, since once metal is eaten away, it is gone.  So I did what all artists secretly do — I hid in in a drawer and forgot about it.

I rediscovered it recently, and decided to challenge myself to find a way to make it work.  Inspired by mushrooms, (aren’t we all?) I decided the best way to deal with it was to sliver it up a little.  I tried a few different things, but ultimately ended up with a piece I’m quite pleased with:

I cut a jagged line into the metal plate and separated the two pieces slightly to expose a thin copper line.  (When in doubt, taking a hacksaw to a dud of a piece is gratifying, if nothing else.)  I changed the bottom section to a deep emerald green, and it suddenly became a landscape with a glowing horizon.  I love that it has an abstract, yet reminiscent feel… it seems like it wants to remind me of someplace, even if I can’t articulate where.  I debated whether to add small trees along the sky, but in the end I decided I liked it a little more open-ended.

So now I pass the challenge on to you!  Find that long lost piece and rediscover its potential.  Sliver it up a little and you just might create something wonderful : )

If your daughter’s marching band is playing for the Big Football Game, and the game is an hour and a half long, and she practiced for roughly 56 hours this week (but who’s counting), and the weather is rain-mixed-with-hail-with-a-90% chance-of-crappy, how long will her “Thriller/Eye of the Tiger/Rock & Roll Part 2″ medley be?

a) 8 minutes

b) 8 minutes, but feels like 30 if the temperature of the bleachers is -20 degrees (Einstein’s “Band Medley” Theory of Relativity)

c) what medley?  I stayed home and took a bubble bath : P *

* lest you think I am a horrible mom, the game was called due to crappy weather (did I call it or what?)  The kids decided to stay and play in the mud anyway; the parents went home and had a glass of wine/ bubble bath/ movie and waited for their young to fully wear themselves out.  By the next day, after everyone had showered and slept in, all was right with the world.

Here is my challenge today:

Find the runt in your studio.  (If you’re anything like me, you have several to choose from.)  Look at it with fresh eyes.  Embrace the quirky imperfections and overlook the glaring mistakes.  Find a way to redefine it — can it be cut up, rotated, embellished, painted, wrought, collaged…?  The idea is not to throw spices on a bad dish, but just to sliver up the mushrooms a little so the kiddos don’t notice ‘em : )

I’m going to be working on this lovely number:

my runt

In case you can’t tell from the pic, it sucks for a number of reasons.  It is blotchy and spotty, and completely lacks the whole zen look I was going for.  On top of that, it is a nice fat 8″ plate.  Nothing like screwing up on the expensive stuff.

Not quite sure what I’m going to do with it yet, but I think it might involve a giant saw blade… shhh….

why is it so difficult to write about??

I think its harder because there is a certain promotional aspect to it.  By talking about something that you also sell, you suddenly become a used car salesman by default.  By “you” I subconsciously mean “me”, and by “used car salesman” I just mean ick.  There is nothing fluid about writing once you tread too near the used car salesman role.  Even being afraid to go near it will put your “fluid” back in the closet.  And writing needs to feel fluid. and wonderful. and poetic.  (And occasionally sardonic, sarcastic, and cheeky, if you’re me.)  And artwork needs to feel fluid, wonderful, and poetic.

So why does writing about artwork feel awkward at best, and sleazy at worst?

Because at its core, writing about your artwork on a blog is like writing a little piece of your soul on a post-it note and sticking it to a billboard.  It wants to say something important, but not in a big, loud “look at me” kind of way.  In a casual, “hey I’m here, just in case you’re interested.”

So my new year’s resolution (we go by academic year in this house; gives me twice as many opportunities to start tabula rasa) — is to write about my artwork, one post-it note at a time.

Currents: set of 4

Blue Landscape: set of 3

This Milestone involves spraying the entire 3-story Little House with blinding white primer.  This serves not only to notify your neighbors of your impending progress, but also to warn them of what they might be stuck with should they distract you from said progress by blaring their car stereos late at night.  The Primer Milestone is also important because it is the first time that the house has ever been dealt with, in a single day, in its entirety.  For those who can’t truly fathom what this means, try doing anything to every square inch of your house in one day.

So this Milestone involves renting a paint sprayer from the Big HD.  (Luckily I live .4 miles from the Big Hd, which I highly recommend should you choose to purchase your own bit of Zen someday.)  SuperMan & I drive to the tool rental and pick out a sprayer and prepare to fork over the $65.  Notsofast, says the BurlyMan.  He proceeds to explain every switch, no matter how mundane.  (Yes, I have operated an “on/off” switch before.  I actually have several lighting fixtures in my house; I’ll be sure to put it on my resume.)  Now, I know this is important, albeit boring.  So I pay attention.  Sortof.  I look like I’m paying attention, which is what’s really important.  What I’m actually doing is practicing the fine art of Testosterone Tune-Out.  It’s an innate skill, passed down through the females of the species.  It is a necessary survival instinct in the Hardware Store Environment.

It is not practiced by the males of the species, however.

SuperMan cuts BurlyMan short and says “yeah yeah, we’ve used one before.  Push this button, flip this switch.  We got it.  Can we go?”  BurlyMan is not swayed.  He launches into Part Two, Be Sure To Clean Your Sprayer Before Returning.  Because While Your Paint Color May Be Beautiful, I Don’t Want To See It All Over My Clothes When I Test It Out.  And See How Clean The Machine Is When I Give It To You?? If It’s Not This Clean When I Get It Back, I’m Charging You $100.

SuperMan rolls his eyes.

The spraying was, well, you’ll just have to experience it for yourself.  Five hours of sameness, staring at a blinding white house.  Gave myself a sunburn and a headache; SuperMan is so sore he can’t move his arms.  Tedium ad naseum.

Cleaned and returned the sprayer.  Four hour rental clocked in at 5:05, but we decided it was worth the extra bucks to both finish the house, and not die in the process.  Rolled it into the rental doors.  BurlyMan sees how clean it is, and actually giggles.  No kidding.  He is so tickled that he not only doesn’t charge us the $100 cleaning fee, but he takes off the $23 late fee.  Because what you have to realize is, while he can charge you the $100 fee, he doesn’t keep the $100.  And while he can give you back $23, it ain’t comin’ out of his pocket.  But by making things neat and clean, we just saved him 20 of his own minutes — which he will now get to spend on doing nothing.

epilogue:  SuperMan takes his payment in dinner and a cherry coke.  I take a Tylenol.  We bask in the gleaming whiteness and the irony that the cleanest part of the house is now the outside.

SuperMan on the HolyCrap Ladder

more bars in more places

I order things most every day

My handsome man in tan and cream

has always been my shipping dream

But now I fear my heart has strayed,

The FedEx man, my heartstrings played

He ran to me,  a package weild’,

as toward his lover in a field

Emotions are now most perplex’t,

My heart, now stolen by FedEx.

Both are filled with glorious phases that are much more palpable, even entertaining, when you are no longer in the middle of them.  I am in the house painting phase, which is the homeowner’s equivalent of morning sickness.  Random, pukey colors thrown up everywhere, on the hope that in the end they will pull together to form something wonderfully beautiful.  Or at least something that doesn’t make you want to cry.  As much.

And like my real childbirth experience (that they promised I’d forget), I find I have no cravings, but nauseating aversions to nearly everything in front of me.  Everything is so intense even when I really try, I mean really reeaallly try, to be subtle.

Case in point:

testing swatches 02:00:10

Ocean View and Seven Seas with Planetarium trim.  My first attempt, granted.  I could paint giant flowers on it and turn my backyard into a daycare.  But that’s not quite the effect I’m after.

Take two:

02:06:02

Lower colors: Winter Lake, Regatta Bay, and Twilight Chimes.  Upper colors left intact to make sure I appreciate how far I’ve come.  Neighborhood watch secretly calling the housing inspectors, *just in case*.

[Editor's note:  to whoever comes up with these ridiculous names, I hope you are sitting in a coffee shop somewhere enjoying your $7 mochalattichino buddy, cause there ain't room in this economy for both of us.  And one of us knows how to use power tools.]

Take three — tired of running to The Big HD, I decide to put my Photoshop skills to the test:

02:14:18

The navy taketh over.  Hey, nosso bad!  Don’t know what color it is, but I like it : )  I’ll call it… Midnight Aura.  (Just kidding.  I’ll call it “Blue”.  Cause *that’s* novel.)

Still not sure what trim, but my good friend Vinty sent me this great link on painting blue houses:  http://architecture.about.com/od/paint/ig/Blue/   (Truly, you can find ANYTHING on the internet.  No matter how mundane.)  I did like this line:  “midnight blues suggest quiet dignity.”  YES.  That’s what I’m going for.  After I go through labor, I want my quiet-frickin’-dignity.

I’ve also decided that if I had my dream house, it would look like one of these:

notmyhouse 1

notmyhouse 2

(Just kidding.  My dream house is now officially brick.)