Expand My Vision [10-Minute Art]

Demure [10-Minute Art]

de·mure/dɪˈmyʊər/[di-myoor]–adjective, -mur·er, -mur·est.
1. characterized by shyness and modesty; reserved.
2. affectedly or coyly decorous, sober, or sedate.
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[Origin: 1350–1400; ME dem(e)ur(e) well-mannered, grave < AF demuré, ptp. of demurer to demur; perh. influenced by OF mur, mëur grave, mature (< L matūrus)]
—Related forms
de·mure·ly, adverb
de·mure·ness, noun
—Synonyms 1. retiring. See modest.

The Little Chapel at Il Borgo

Yesterday I had an email conversation with our host, Alessandro's, brother named Claudio. Claudio is a painter, and I asked if he had ever painted this little chapel. It was the family chapel, back years ago when the whole Il Borgo estate was owned by one family. A lane of mature cypress trees leads to it from one of the main houses. I spent time every morning, of both my visits, leaning against one of the trees, gazing at that chapel, listening to the wind in the tops of the trees, feeling hushed, grateful, calm. I still return there mentally ALL the time. The photos are those I (or Mom) took on both of our trips.

Raptor Problem

Email/Photo from brother Cam:

Since we now have two gigantic hawks patrolling our back yard, we have decided to shut the pet-door during daylight hours. Our cats (prey?) will only be allowed outside during the night.

This is a temporary measure to avoid any carnage. We are hoping the hawks move on to other turf after they’ve eaten all the pigeons and bunnies and small dogs in our neighborhood. They are a formidable pair of birds!

--Cam

Ciera's Punkin

Dread

Miss V scared me yesterday, just making a joke in one of her emails to me -- she said, 'Wait til you hit menopause full stride -- you'll be wearing a chastity belt!' Jeez cripe!!! (as my Uncle Sonny would say) ... so this is my 10-minute art from last night. I'm not going there, I'm not surrendering to that 'oh it's my hormones wah wah wah' crap. It's just about hormone adjustment, probably some dietary tweaks, and 100% about ATTITUDE. My libido is my business and not the property or domain of Mutha Menopause. I think women need to have conversations more directed toward 'here's what I do and it helps this way, or that way' and not just laugh and shrug as if becoming a libido-less walking cadaver for the last 3 decades of life is unavoidable. [Then again, there are many many women who can't wait to have an excuse, any excuse, not to 'have' to have sex. They are a species unknown to me and I don't want to go near any of them for fear it might be contagious.]

Italy Longings (again)

We had such a good bunch, such a grand time!

Chris, Cam & Ciera's New Neighbors

Chris says: "I've named them Franklin and Eleanor. The male hawk is huge. This light pole they are sitting on is the one directly over our back yard. Funny thing, there have been ZERO pigeons on this entire street block for two weeks now. So I have a feeling these hawks may have moved into one of the big trees just south of our house." Chris and Cam have 3 cats, so we're all kind of worried for their safety. Two of them are bigger and faster and maybe could escape a hawk, but Shabba is elderly and frail and slender.

This Picture Reminds me of Melissa G.

Melissa is a good friend of my son, David's -- this picture is of the Indian actress Aishwarya Rai (I think that's how you spell it), but man!!! I did a quadruple take because it was as if Melissa were staring back at me.

Sunday's 10-Minute Art

I spent almost all of Sunday working on my travel doll again, so these 10-minute pieces really were 10 minutes, a nice break from bending wire to shape the doll's torso. I bought a new punch [the puzzle piece] - so the 10-min piece with '46' on it was an excuse to try out the new punch! The other one? I was listening to Led Zeppelin, Baby ... 'it's been a long time since I rock & rolled; been a long time since I did the stroll!' The Mighty Zep - I love 'em!

Saturday's 10-Minute Art

Ciera's First Grade Picture

[Notice the Cheetah headband!]

It's Almost Fleece Jacket Season

The arrival of 'autumn' in Phoenix means the season for jackets has arrived. Jackets in Phoenix are, at best, a nearly extinct species. I say 'nearly' because there are those 5 or 6 days when a heavy coat is actually necessary in the early morning hours -- although by 2 p.m. you're usually wishing you were in your skivvies in front of a rotating fan. But! And! There are several days in October and November, then again in March, when the fleece jackets make their appearance.

I LOVE fleece jackets. Not every man is meant to wear one, alas! But thankfully, those who are seem to be the very same men who find their way to the jackets. Oh, bliss! Visually, they make for very nice scenery [the jackets, the men in them] because the jackets' shape seems to skim over just those particular areas that make for my favorite eye candy -- shoulders, the muscles of the back, a strong bicep on an arm. As well, they're cut to sit just above what is, for me, a man's finest hour: the TUSHIE. And, too, the fabric itself is a huge selling point - call it instant curb appeal for any male! What can I say, I'm a tactile wench -- I LOVE texture, especially when my imagination can put the nubbly-soft fabric of a fleece jacket together (in my mind) with the promise of a man's smooth, warm skin beneath.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. [Can you believe a girl can get twisted over a piece of material? Ya never know, ya just never know.] Oh, to burrow against a man wearing a fleece jacket -- makes a girl just wanna rub all over it, purring & arching! [Are you smiling? Are you wearing a fleece jacket yet?] It must be said: what teddy bears are to a 6 year old, fleece jackets are to a woman in her prime [provided she has any sense at all!] Soft but still strong, warm, alluring, welcoming - all this is conjured by a fleece jacket. Secure, but with that hint of an action man somehow hovering just beneath. They're also quite absorbent, perfect for drool catching, the final [& necessary] perk for a Twisted Fleece Jacket Junkie such as myself.

And then ...

A surge of sass, an 'oh please stop whining' blast ... an equal response, with comeback moxie: to myself, to my muse, to everyone & anyone who might have had a moment's doubt.

No Status Quo

I'm finding 46 to be a provocative, difficult age. It's almost as if being 16 again, adolescent, given the insecurities, the uncertainties ... when only a few weeks ago I wrote a poem about 'bones' and 'brave song of me'. The cycles of knowing who I am versus seeking external validation are killing me. This piece [45 minutes, not 10] is a cry to myself, a cry to my muse, a cry to my relationships one & all [established & new] -- I'm struggling to hold onto myself, so I need to be found, to be sought out, to be assured. It's aging, surely -- a very strenuous mental & emotional process of its own [who ever believes she will one day be 46?]. But there is also the intrusive knocking of menopause at my door, thrusting interruptions into a body & mind I had finally come to possess in an almost full capacity. Up down Up down the heart, along with a body sometimes so foreign to me in its changes that I feel like Mrs. Potato Head, as if some chubby little hand plunked my head down on the wrong spud but today I have to walk around in it anyway.

I will say that in my art [at last!!] I am finally learning to get below the surface -- it is no longer 'pretty pages', it is WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME. It doesn't always feel pretty, I promise. I think it is the time limit on the pieces - I work much more spontaneously, more quickly, WITHOUT ALL MY USUAL EDITING -- makes all the difference in the world with outcome. Much more revealing. I like it. And I'm scared to death of it.

Toni Afterthought

Had a bad evening last night with feeling isolated, left out ... Bobby called to say he was having drinks with some of the people from his new job. David at the gym. Kevin sitting hollering at his Xbox. This after a weekend when everywhere the guys went, they would say, 'Oh! Did you want to go?' as they were headed out the door. I mean, I'm standing there with hag hair & shredded jeans, paint all over my arms, shit drying on my desk, did it matter if I wanted to go? I want to be asked in advance, I guess, not just be an afterthought. So I said that -- "Hey, shoot, how 'bout you guys give me some advance idea of your plans, so I have the option of going without keeping everybody waiting, or being in the middle of a canvas!"

Miss Congeniality (10-Min Art)

As long as I'm smiling, sassy, talking, comical, life is good in everybody else's world (specific to work I mean). But let me be quiet, and 12 of the guys will ask, 'Are you pissed off?' ????????????? I've had a lot on my mind lately, including digesting this idea that others' have an ongoing expectation of my behavior, & constantly are interpreting it (I would have said NOBODY pays that close attention to me here). This morning as I sat putting on my makeup, I realized that there is actually a moment some [not all] mornings when I mentally visualize myself taking the Personality Battery off a wee charger beside my eyelash curler & slapping it into my thigh. I don't like to hear 'are you pissed off?' just because I'm in a quiet mood, or a fragile mood, or still half asleep -- but neither do I like explaining, 'Naw, I'm just feeling quiet.' I wonder why I, and most women, are always expected to be "ON". We must all be wearing a Miss Congeniality Sash that only men/others can see.

10 Minute Art (Creating a Journal Page)

These pages are in my GBC-bound journal, covering over some stuff I didn't like and creating blank areas for future journal entries.

Anais Nin

Here I wanted to try making the TTC bases out of polymer clay, so I could see what would/wouldn't stick to the clay after I toaster-ovened it! I love these!!

Paris!

Toni attemps fiber fusion, using Wonder Under -- [I know, I know, it's all foreign to me, too] -- a technique out of the Artist Trading Card Workshop book. Let's just say that my fibers refused to fuse so I ended up using bits and pieces as artfully as possible on these Paris! cards.