it is very quiet
the realization of a deep loneliness
apparent in the sound-sucking carpet
in the dim light of way past midnight
acceptance of what I need
not always found in my words
or my forms
presses my mind ever forward
forces my fingers to choke pencils
don’t always know which way
to shove the compass needle
magnetic attractions don’t always apply
searching for something to shove inside the attic
to store inside my soul
treasures for the grand kids to find
hope for my older self to embrace
there is the first effort
before the wheels start spinning again
enter title here
my book is nearly ready to be launched into space, my mind is more nervous than my hands
Sometimes, sometimes the brain just burns out. Getting pushed off a cliff or forgetting where you put the car keys initiates meltdown. Fried is not the end of the line, but when ‘creating’ every grey matter ounce is more priceless than foie gras. Were I to describe a concept cereal called Shark Attack: golden-sweet, menacing shark-shaped clusters, human body-part shaped marshmallows and within moments of adding milk–the milk turns blood red, would you think me mad? How about nostril hair threading? One simply attaches delightful glimmering specialty threads from their nostril hairs. Rather than Nike appeal, “Just Do It,” we say “Just Grow It.”
Like I said, fried brain–not the end of the line but damn well near it…
Way back in the days, when I was a ‘part’ of Prentice Hall Publishers, we in the Design Department were very excited to get our first giant Mac computers. I had a blast creating all different types of graphic posters under the guise of learning. At one point in my life, I wanted to become CEO of Ogilvy and Mather, this before the likes of Madmen…maybe I could have been Madwoman;)
when does the mellifluous voice-over sing
no one was injured in the making of this life
where is he and his satin, solid chords
he guarantees I won’t expire if used correctly
you won’t void my warranty if accidentally bounced around
did I tell you
I want out of my contract
I’m old merchandise
I just want to leap off this fucking shelf
land on that lovely yellow-tooth enamel floor
and beat it
far away where products get a second chance
not a shelf life – that’s so 2015
I want a new paint job
and old money
where is that guy
who can buy me shiny
now see, I’m not talkin’ diamonds
no gems, furs or initials like some brand burned on my ass
I want pure unadulterated gifts
that will touch my heart
only deep can reach
so bring your old money
and your wet lust
but stay home if you’re not the real deal
I want it all
I’m used goods and my time is precious
so much more so
than those greenbacks
ah, my brain is exploding and the words are vomiting, sorry…
queue red pump
a hand-painted sign reads 5 cents
that’s where the bloodstained diamond ring is found
not the body, she’s missing
a long rubber tube reaches into a black hulking car
with a grimacing silver grill
and a great shadow-casting hood ornament
designed by Jimmy Durante
that’s what I read in a retro diner somewhere
off route 46, maybe it was I95
fade to dim office
clanking Royal typewriters
swinging low lights
and leggy secretaries
dumb but smokin’
the night moon is pushing through slotted blinds
golden diagonals dramatically cut across dark green desk blotters
amber bottles are stashed in low metal drawers
a chisel-jawed guy smacks his fist
a nearby detective swizzles on a straw
like the red pump
except it’s a lot shorter
it only has to reach his curling lips
he’s clanking murder motives together
like the ice chips in his tumbler
if the clues were more cerebral
and less like the obscene-sized hood ornament
or the bad comb-over toupee
Don Morzellio wears to look good for Gina
who cares only about the bulge in his pants
the back pocket, not the front
the show would have to run much longer
the intense detective gulps down his bourbon
he’s figured out who dun it
the mystery parceled together
while drinking and making small talk with the sexy secretary
cracked windshield, blood-splattered ring, paid rat
and exaggerated theme music
lady jane created a few weeks back
Sometimes, inspiration comes in the shape of serendipity…
I was recently contacted by a cutting-edge company called WeWork asking if I’d like to share a post on my ideal studio space. This company encompasses a fresh approach to ingenuity and I was glad to learn such cool places exist. They offer creative co-working space in a collaborative working environment. You get the benefit of both internal and external energy as their studio spaces are located in several major cities.
My mother-in-law just sold her home in New Mexico and will be moving into my home, specifically, my studio space and adjoining music room the end of this September. My art belongings and I will move down into our finished basement. If all goes as planned, we will build a new studio at some point off the house somewhere…
Since finding out my mother-in-law’s news, I’ve been contemplating what my studio has meant to me while also envisioning a new space. My blog’s header image is my current studio. I chose that image because it’s the heart of where I work. Each time I step into my studio and close the door behind me, all my life hats come off, except one. It is behind this studio door, in this most intimate space, where I do my best thinking, painting, drawing and writing…
The 30-second tour
In my studio there is a place for everything and the places are many-
The open areas keep the covered walls of inspiration from closing in-
The most important thing about a studio and I know not one creative mind would disagree with me here is lighting–there must be abundant natural light or the kind that lets you believe you do. In the evening, if I turn on all the lights in my studio I have faux daylight-
My studio is my second home. Once inside, I’m transported to a place that allows me to think and work regardless of what’s happening on the other side of the door or in the world-
These notes are the greatest source of inspiration for me-
Future space dream…
I’ve loved this studio space. It has been very kind to me and I shall miss it. But I look forward to gaining a new space. When I researched the WeWork website, I found their interior studio designs very inspiring. I may try for a more clutter-free arrangement next time around. Right now, sky is the limit–that is–once I escape from the basement. 😉
Do you know what happened to the
Tidy Bowl Man?
I’ll tell you if you don’t know or can’t remember –
his career ended up in the crapper.
I don’t want to end up
in the crapper
wearing a white sea-captain suit.
I don’t want to spiral helplessly down, down, downward,
while desperately crying out,
“…it works so you don’t have toooooooooo–”
I vow to always work. I promise to never be lazy.
And I’ll always keep a plunger nearby, in case I hear the Tidy Bowl Man’s plea 😉
LoBoat Illustration created a few months ago and previously published.
Fellow blogger and friend, Deb of C-Dog & Company and I often discuss the merits of keeping our respective creative dinghies afloat 🙂 One must keep their sense of humor when discussing dinghies, corks and creativity 😉
I promised myself when I started this blog, advertisers wouldn’t appear on it (except for that little sneaky ad WP sometimes places on your post’s bottom and you have to pay them to make it go away). I’ve stuck to my word and passed on several opportunities.
Recently, a lovely gal named Kellyn who’s involved with a realty company came across my mural post and asked me if I’d be interested in writing a post about my home. I don’t receive anything for this other than the challenge of taking halfway decent pictures and possibly being ‘twittered’ at some point. I don’t even tweet. My mom was a realtor back in the 1980’s and her hard-earned success helped put six kids through college.
Kellyn of Compass was so very gracious and took the time to answer my emails and concerns, I thought hey, a house post might be fun. So without further ado here’s looking inside my interior…
A House with a Heartbeat
Way back when I was shorter than a kitchen drawer – fun color, fuzzy slippers, comfy furniture and book-lined shelves held the magical ability to let me believe I was special. Flash forward to 2015, my belief in a home’s magical abilities hasn’t changed.
My current home was new when we moved in twelve years ago. When our colonial was rising from the dirt, there were things that bothered me like a visible outdoor meter and a small main entrance with Amazonian ceilings. With a little creative inspiration and a paintbrush, these disappointments soon became dust bunnies under the desk of life.
The Amazonian entrance was cut down at the knees with sweet orange and warm yellow. Our children’s rooms became personal art pads they filled. Eventually furniture that could hold real people moved in to occupy other rooms. Above all else, shelves of books and islands of treasure were added where empty just wouldn’t do. Our house began filling with personality while my family fashioned its warm heartbeat.
Brave visitors are welcomed with warm color!
And what would a home be without sentiment – this horse is the lone survivor of a pair. It was my Nana’s. He stands sentry on the windowsill over the kitchen sink.
Off the kitchen, is my favorite place in all the world – my studio.
I adore books and the giant husband built these industrial studio shelves. Art books are heavier than Michelangelo’s David.
Music fills a home with song. Owning a baby grand, albeit an old one, was always a dream of mine. The ‘music’ room adjoins my studio – I can sing or draw. My family prefers that I draw.
The giant husband and I enjoy flea marketing. We bought this chandelier long ago at an old-fashioned market where you could buy worn baseball cards, old shoes, chipped dolls and assorted light fixtures…
The family room mantle has had more facelifts than Joan Collins. I slammed this last iteration with a loaded sponge – ecru and gold paint over turquoise for a faux ‘marblish’ look.
When the kiddies were small, I painted special little touches in their rooms. My son liked camouflage.
There are the murals I’ve painted in my children’s rooms. This one was done when they were very young. My son, now 14, won’t let me paint over it. He’s mushy like his dad.
(Horse characters from DreamWorks 2002 animated film–Spirit; Stallion of the Cimarron)
The giant husband built a frame from molding and I burnished it gold for my daughter’s dressing table.
I always wanted a fireplace in the master bedroom. The giant husband surprised me with this one. We gave it a book mantle topper. The fake fire crackles!
All rooms, even the bathroom, must be a happy place to sit!
It’s the special little things lurking around bright corners that make a house fun.
Or tigers ready to pounce from on high –
Stair squatting is the only way Mojo can see who’s approaching.
Our German Shepherd, Rocky likes waiting by a door.
And finally, before one enters a home they must feel welcome. I can’t think of a bigger hello than a bright Adirondack chair.
Hope you enjoyed the tour…
May you dream of living in a comfortable space…
Ever since I can remember, I’ve adored marrying offbeat images with well-intended words. The creative coupling of the profound with the surreal was like riding a roller coaster on icy tracks. Blending the silly into the sublime was storm chasing and catching the hurricane. I suspect it’s why I earned a degree in Advertising & Design. And, my first job out of college was in a small New York City ad agency. How I tripped into a long-term publishing career is still a bit of a mystery to me. I’m waiting for the unauthorized bio to find out. 😉
Thank you. May your dream of doing what you love become your reality.
One Eye Guy created a few months ago for no particular reason.