II did this sculpture at 17 years of age. It was the only one, of four sculptures, to return home without crumbling. Sadly, she did eventually break apart. I never gave her the fighting chance she’d deserved.
I wasn’t interested in school. It was difficult for me to take direction from anyone. I was one of those perpetual daydreamers. Perhaps, if I’d listened to my art teacher, my sculptures would’ve survived.
The image shown here I call Grieving Woman in Clay. She was about two feetlong. To this day, her image remains in my studio. The loss of her long ago, is what prompted my return to clay 44 years later…
I hope you’re all managing with this weather. am:)
reconstructed resolutions lower the ball to the ground the ball won’t rise again till the crowds gather next year when the lovers and the true believers return in celebration when the partiers piss and vomit on sidewalks and in alleys
My Resolution(s) this year I’ve gotten better at accepting multiple versions I’ve barreled through decades and broken over waterfalls I’m pumped to shred the rowing muscles
this year I’m shoving specific plans into my eye sockets not the usual well-formed outtakes, no more excuses —here—I wonder if I’m bull-shitting myself with words as I often do
or maybe, I’ve gone and done it—reshaping thoughts into tangibles maybe I have, because this morning, facial recognition can’t recognize me could it be this year’s resolution, this thinning skin I wake in each day more forcing my handheld device to decide who I am?
but…my new phone requires an app update… I remain the same (use your words, AM)…
time carries the words, the dreams, the light she throws down faster than a gaudy ball dropping on a bombastic evening she grinds to enjoy a loved one’s pain she grins as voyeur to our last moments she slows if I watch her red digital clock counting down as my soup warms
I’ve come to realize this—dreams, words the very pace of time is up to me, to you when these things travel swiftly, we’re doing good work busied our worlds between seconds, minutes, hours
this morning, I placed flint sparks in my pockets
today we will do good work we will shoot firecrackers to light the night sky we will dirty the dark street a little to say—we were here to see, to smell, to hear, to taste, to touch every burning color of this moment called life
The joy of imaginary playdoh. My first few sculpts have been created with airdry clay. In the coming months, I hope to venture into polymer. As a poor excuse for a kitchen Italian, I find the oven a tad out of my zone, and polymer clay requires oven-baking to set. I’ll get there at some point. Just not yet. This is Sculpt No.2.
Brick by brick, tooth by tooth the learning continues…
Here in Hudson Valley, NY, after the holidays with the trees barren and winter white no longer serving Christmas Card purpose, it can get bleak. This is the long stretch to spring. Any creating can be cathartic, maybe even add a little warmth in the fingertips.
The television tucked behind sliding woody doors – like a Christmas surprise. Counting down the days till Rudolph would soar above our shag-carpeted family room. My sisters, brother and I waited. And when that bulb-nosed deer finally arrived, we watched him save cinematic Christmas. All of us resting our laurels on orange shag. Each of us smiling.
Every Christmas, I retell my children how today’s young lot miss a wonderful life. The escalating thrill, that building joy of patience – of waiting – waiting – and finally – experiencing the ALL of Christmas. There were no multiple viewing times, streaming services, faces staring at ass-pocket phones – we traveled together in one pocket of time. Playing outdoors, watching holiday shows, building snow people…
And yes, though sometimes not by choice, we’d have chosen it anyway. The uncanny warmth, the holiday magic bursting forward when we celebrated together.
Then at New Year’s, how we gathered again. Our home open to all relatives and friends. We watched the ball descend while ringing Uncle Jimmy’s silly noisemakers. We stayed up late. Everyone woke to pancakes and a new year of unknowns shrouded in mystery and love.
My childhood was the last generation of un-instant gratification. ‘Twas a glorious time indeed.
This little cat is my daughter’s beloved Clam. I sculpted him as a special Christmas gift. Clam was adopted months ago. This was his first Christmas with us. I’m happy to report that both Clam the Cat, and Mojo the Dachshund, are peacefully hanging out.
I do so hope you all are doing well. And a happy, happy New Year to all! am:)
One of my favorite holiday shows is Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol (1962). I adore the soundtrack and belt out the songs (much to the chagrin of my family) every December.
“…We can’t afford to have a hen We will some day I vow So I suggest you dream of then and prize what we have now…” — Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol
I recently jumped into sculpture and began my adventure using air-dry clay (lots of muss, but no heating element needed). I’ve asked Santa for polymer clay (bakes in standard kitchen oven). One can achieve much higher levels of detail with polymer clay.
The werewolf sculpt above was created with air-dry clay. I learned 1,000 ways how not to sculpt with this first bulky attempt.
A merry, merry to all who celebrate. Warm wonderful days to all!🌲 Stay safe am:)
‘Tis true – we dwell in a ufo-embracing town – the kind that breathes Halloween – aliens, creatures, princesses and all – in every deliciously macabre direction
Armed with 3,000 pieces of candy, we’re ready for the costumed onslaught.
Happy Halloween Be safe Be smart and remember – over-sugaring doesn’t make us sweet;) kindness comes from within
am:) (featured above – my little pumpkin kid – a great dancer who can pirouette atop any pumpkin)
I’m ready for Halloween. 3,000 pieces of candy purchased. (I do not exaggerate – Trick-or-Treat is rather insane here in upstate NY:) (Boris Karloff’s likeness served as my inspiration for this Frankenstein art. Photo background is from Canva)
In the early 2000s, I saw a local newspaper ad soliciting 101 word stories. For some reason, I was drawn to the idea and submitted a few stories. I don’t remember if they got published.
The limitation concept stuck with me, and I started 101 Words in December 2005. In those early days, I only posted my own stories and a few from friends. I didn’t open it up to the public until 2007.
In November 2014, I decided to go all in and turn 101 Words into something special.
My vision for 101 Words is a comprehensive ecosystem and community that can support writers, editors, and readers. This vision is a work in progress, and I hope you stick around to watch it grow.
A March 2024 sketch done with a ridiculously large Ticonderoga preschooler pencil “Little Karole” would blossom into a six-foot-tall, gorgeous woman who’d live an amazing life as a stained glass artist. And much later, she’d become my beautiful mother-in-law.
perhaps it is my 60 years of age inspiring the words below, it could be that the majority of my new friends, most in their 70’s and 80’s, continue to open my eyes in every direction but down
“to live”
I don’t believe the phrase “to live” means escaping our burdens
I don’t believe “to live” means transforming ourselves or collecting accolades
I don’t believe “to live” includes acquiring wealth or building empires
I don’t believe “to live” means ignoring the past or focusing on the remaining years as we age
I never believe “to live” is expressed through curated media or grinning images
I do believe “to live” creates dubious comparisons of one against the other
I do believe the phrase “what it means to live” suffocates dreams before they begin
I do believe “to live” finding strength in our efforts amid others indifference
“to live” brave in our ‘individualness’ while accepting others in theirs
“to live” caring for ourselves so we can care for others
“to live” stepping forward when we’ve lost someone behind us
And I always believe “to live for today” when it is tomorrow
anntogether 