My studio runs parallel to a quiet side road that springs to life when school lets out. Watching the kids leap into summer often makes me think back. Long ago, but ever present, the silly girl who I’d like to smack in the head.
image above – me in my early 20’s – ah, the makeup-less, cover-up less time of long ago:)
hope you’re all managing the heat
am:)
In 1975 and for many years afterward, I wanted nothing more than to look and sing like Bobbie Gentry, and emulate Carl Kolchak, the mildly insane journalist, who investigated supernatural crimes while wearing a goofy smile and a slanted straw hat.
Today, I continue to play my favorite Gentry album Ode to Billy Joe while the guitar sitting in the corner of my studio listens along. And I strive to pile my hair higher than is normal.
As for becoming a boots-on-the-ground monster-chasing reporter, I daily arm myself with art supplies to track down creatures, and I type prose on a typewriter keyboard. The wide-brimmed straw hat resting on a pile of books in my studio sees action when the sun is out.
Maybe, I did become who I wanted to be all along. Maybe…
Pencil sketch of Bobbie Gentry done about two months ago. I continue to use a giant Ticonderoga pencil. I’m not allowing myself to get into details using sharpened points and varieties of leads in the hopes of focusing on shape and form.
I’ve not done much writing these last few months. I’ve been madly creating monster collage mini-paintings like Shunka Warakin (below) for the upcoming UFO Fair in Pine Bush, NY. Such fun:)
I hope you are all doing well.
am:)
(Above, a recent sketch I did of my dear friend, DS Levy. My reference was a photo taken when the amazingly talented writer known as little Deb had a typewriter already growing in her heart)
Man, it has been a long time since I’ve posted. Like you all, I’m juggling coffee mugs attempting to make a Venetian decanter. I’ve been doing quite a bit of writing and ‘arting’ offline. ‘Tis difficult wanting to do it all with the damn clock dictating the days.
I do hope you, your families and friends are doing okay.
Here’s a piece I wrote sometime ago while sipping coffee in the kitchen of my previous home:)
The Lollipop Vanishes
The cold isn’t done yet. It remains bluster-blue out there. Steam from my morning coffee marinates my face while a pen hanging from the calendar on my pantry door doodles pictograms. The wind spirits are still dancing. Shouldn’t have cracked the kitchen sliders open so early. Perhaps the swinging pen is scrawling a message from beyond, should I pray or wipe the door down?
Time flips on its head whenever clouds sail by that fast. Between sips of luke warm coffee, I remember me as a little girl in brown polyester, a tomboy with a pageboy, and a half-shirted party girl. Young woman with a career, an apartment, a sports car, a motorcycle.
As a lefty, I never learned biker right-hand turns. The bike went away. I totaled my car. The car went away. I bought another car. Got married. We moved from New Jersey to New York. We had children. Moved into a bigger house. Our large dog died. We got another dog. Plus a smaller dog for child anxiety. My children earned degrees.
Our family had a bad eleven weeks that killed my father and mother-in-law and gave my mother a massive stroke. My mother died three years later. I don’t remember being her caregiver. My children moved into their new lives. We downsized into a new “old” house. My husband’s hair turned grey. My older relatives are nearly done dying. A box of Clairol waits in the wings for me.
In one of my book clubs, I’m the oldest, in the other, I’m the youngest. I worry the elder members will pass on before reading the next book selection.
The lollipop vanishes, and the goddamn stick can beat you into the ground if you let it.
Look out there, the gray is fading to light purple. How lovely. That’s something I haven’t seen in a while.
am:)
Apologies for the post-holiday posting of this. It somehow landed in drafts when I imagined tapping the “publish” button.
A merry montage for my family that I share with you this Christmas.
May you, your family and friends, near and far, enjoy a peaceful and joyous holiday.
Love, am
Nero the Cane Corso, friend and muse to my sister, Grace; Honey the Pit mix, adopted this year, crazy companion to my sister, Dolores; Cormac/Mac-mac the Malamute, snow-lover and liege to my sister, Virginia; Mojo the Dachshund, long-bodied, big-hearted buddy to my family; and last but never least, Kiwi the Testudo tortoise, roommate and foil to my daughter, Caroline❤️🎄🌟
Bringing the Misfits Home
A Sentimental Christmas Memory
we embrace every relative
load up the wagon, pack in tight and leap onto the highway
Staten Island to New Jersey
chrome steeds try galloping past our Country Squire, but Dad fantasizes he’s lead stallion
from the rear-facing seat, I watch the mesmerizing herd of headlights
trail farther and farther behind
no other man (driving 90 miles an hour) will ever replace this depth of faith
my fierce childhood possession, always
into the cold, dark Jersey night, we arrive home
the V-8 shudders, the presents cushioning our sleepy heads rattle
my little sister’s pigtails shift on my shoulder, I shake the bones to wake us up
Tima’s barking gnaws the sleep crust from our eyes
while we unpack every last ounce of Italian cheer and clamp our gifts
beneath all available arms
my brothers, sisters and I march like weary soldiers across the snowy lawn
we trudge up the brick stoop and into our warm home
pajamas quickly managed, we mime brushing our teeth
Mom tucks us in and kisses our cheeks with her smile brighter than winter
I surround myself with stuffed animals, swaddle in blankets
and stare out my bedroom window to search for the blazing star of my picture books
(I’ll later learn that I’d been praying to Venus all along)
tomorrow, like clockwork, Emile will stop at the corner of our street
yell out in his mildly, terrified mailman voice, “WHERE’S TIMA?”
one of us will step into the cold to coax our hefty German shepherd
away from her favorite place on the front stoop to bring her inside
and just like that, Christmas is officially over
(Opening image, 1980 – Christmas Tree)
(Image directly above, 1980 – my little brother, Vito, me and our goofy shepherd, Rosie
Unfortunately, I couldn’t find an image of our childhood shepherd, Tima, a much more serious-minded shepherd )
Hope you’re all doing well ❤️
am:)
For those unfamiliar with the poem The Two-headed Calf, it was written by Laura Gilpin (1950-2007). This force of nature came to me by way of my dear friend, DS Levy.
Ms. Gilpin’s tragic, yet beautiful portrait reminds us of the choice each one of us can make regardless of our circumstance or time on this earth. The Two-headed Calf is taped to my computer where my singular brain absorbs it daily.
When I was a child, my brothers and sisters often visited the Blauvelt Museum (shown below) to gaze at its many taxidermy displays. One animal in particular always tore at my heart — the two-headed calf mounted on the wall above the mantle who looked through me with her six dark limpid eyes. How I wish I knew of Ms. Gilpin’s poem back then.
Hiram Blauvelt was a philanthropist, conservationist, art and animal collector. Ironically, Hiram was a big game hunter, and his kills provided the conservationist displays.
“Through his big game and private wildlife art collections, Hiram hoped to promote the cultural value of wildlife art and the need for conservation of its subjects and their habitats.” “Founded in 1957 as a natural history museum, the Blauvelt Museum introduced students, scouts and youth groups to the need to support wildlife and habitats conservation. Visiting artists created drawings and paintings from close observation of the specimens.”
In searching for the images for this post, I was elated to learn of Blauvelt’s direction. When the ‘hunt-then display to promote conservationism’ philosophy fell out of favor, “…the Board of Directors of the Blauvelt-Demarest Foundation decided that the original objectives would be best achieved by redesigning the museum to feature the works of contemporary wildlife artists, built on the artistic foundation of the Blauvelt’s early collection of works…” And among its many wonderful events, today’s Blauvelt also hosts an art museum residence program.
I don’t often show post-stroke images of my beautiful mom. I share the image (below) to share Millie’s joy.
Through three years of relentless pain, Millie smiled and expressed joy. Knowing her was a gift, and her lessons of love🌹 remain with me.
As her Halloween Birthday
arrives, I will smile impossibly wide to pay Millie’s gift forward in a world that needs a hell of a lot more love
I wish you all a fun, fabulous, creative, smiling, and safe👻Happy Halloween!
am:)
(image below taken many harvest moons ago when Millie and Billy were cruisin’ around in their convertible Mustang GT, and my kiddies were not yet costing us college money😁)
“With all the darkness that’s going on the world, you can look at the darkness, just
don’t stare. It will make you crazy. It will make you cross eyed. It will make you
what it is. The solution is to create magic, dance, sing, love. Create environments
where you can create joy. Because you can create joy.” —RuPaul
Occasionally and sometimes often, I remind myself why it is that I create critters and creatures from the comfort of a warm and comfortable studio, sleeping dachshund at my feet, food in the fridge, clean water at my disposal (for now…) while man’s madness blinds him to the fires burning the land, the books, the beauty, the ballot boxes, the bridges, the rainbows…
Since the annual UFO Fair this past June, I’ve turned myself into a mad monster merchant selling all measure of cryptid ilk. Yup, I designed prints, magnets, stickers, cards with mugs and totes waiting beneath Mothman’s wings. As a participating vendor at the Alien Fair, I’d passed up several opportunities to sell original artwork which I’d been using expressly as background decor (I’ve always had a difficult time parting with my original art). For this harvest festival, I turned some of my original paintings into 11 x 14 prints. Well, weeks of spending money to make money finally arrived on October 16 and it did not disappoint.
My monetary goal at these events has been, at the very least, to make the vendor fee back. I’ve been pleasantly surprised to have leapt a few monsterish bounds beyond my goal each time. More importantly, I’ve overcome my trepidation of being on the other side of the vendor experience. I remember well the feeling of ‘shame’ when passing by merchants, some alone beneath their canopies, all those years ago at the flea markets and fairs when I wasn’t interested in shopping their wares.
No matter how many calendars or daily planners we mark off, we never cease learning about ourselves. I never imagined that after all those visits to outdoor flea markets, festivals and fairs with my husband and children, that I’d become a seasonal vendor who can handle getting sheepishly or brazenly passed by when my creative work isn’t appreciated or wanted. Though I’ll never understand why some people refuse to find a soft spot for critters with massive fangs, killer claws and bloodlust in their veins;), I’ll continue merrily along my quest of meeting festival folks and chatting up creatures or the weather or the strange light fair-goers might have seen that disappeared into an inky night sky.
When the world gets cold, our experiences and memories are often the things that warm us with their Bigfoot feet and Yeti breath.
I hope you are all doing well.
xo
am
P.S. I must thank my husband, Keith, who sacrifices his only day off during the week for these events. He is also kind (and wise enough) to buy his insane wife morning ‘pre-vending’ bloody marys:)
anntogether 