art is not something you take it is something you give
I can only draw stick figures
fire begins with simple sticks
none of my sculptures look right
you’re in good company now-put all your wrongs together
and make art
The words are a riff from a piece I wrote back in 2014. The unfinished sculpture images shown above – my latest work His name is Abraham GS Bardo (name inspired after the prolific author George Saunders) When finished, Abraham will inhabit a cemetery with his dearest friend the raven.
Sculpt no. 11 – Casino Limbo Lola Lupone (named after the tragic showgirl of Copacabana fame, & Patti LuPone, whom I adored from the very first time I saw her perform, Evita, in 1979) is the third of four characters living in my latest sculpt, Casino Limbo. Lola Lupone, though stuck in Casino Limbo, doesn’t seem to care where she is. Her mind remains in love with itself, and her heart remains infatuated with her head.
(I plan to post each character individually before posting the full tableau – as they’re not full-view once positioned ’round the table.)
Way back – when I used to take photo pics of my kiddies. If Max struck this same pose today, He’d need a much larger towel❤️ (I deep-dove into my older WP posts this morning. I’m going to re-post some. I so enjoy the merging of image & words)
Robert – who only months ago shared his stellar poetry through a powerful voice – is no longer here. His generosity and kindness – needed so desperately in this world – will never be forgotten❤️
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:)
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:)
Herbie The Lovebug is a Volkswagen with blue and red pinstripes and the number 53 on his chassis. In his movies, Herbie never fails to rescue his owners whenever they need saving. They need saving a lot. Herbie once traveled to Monte Carlo for a race. He goes many other places too. Racing is his passion and he is creative at winning.
A few months ago, Dad brought home a Volkswagen. The little bug sits next to our Grand Squire wagon. But it never appears diminished. Our little red car has no pinstripes or racing number, still I know it is kind and clever. Whenever Dad drives it, he always smiles.
(Each week en route to the gym, I pass by this poor little Volkswagen. I finally remembered to take a picture before driving by. Always, when I see this little car, I travel back to the little car in my childhood driveway — the red bug who had the power of getting my ornery dad to smile.)
Mrs. DeDeo rarely steps away from the classroom. Today she is needed across the hall for a moment. A moment is all Dwayne needs. He leaps to the front of the room body-blocking the chalked letters we’re supposed to copy into our marble notebooks.
With a spoon from his pocket, Dwayne excavates boogers while singing how he likes mowing down squirrels. We don’t believe him. Mrs. DeDeo returns. Dwayne begins mercy yowling. The fear in his voice chains John the Baptist between my ears. Imprisoned in one of Herod’s palace cells, John prays to receive Jesus’ blessing.
The following morning John will lose his head to dawn’s early light.
(I find joy in sharing bits and pieces of my childhood truths here with you. These memories make me smile – even the sad and odd ones. My inner-child lives as a constant reminder of humility and perseverance. Of kindness and compassion.
Each of our childhoods lingers near, our memories like shadows to embrace, to reshape, to share, to delete, to run from, to run toward…)
My flying squirrel was created with Tombow markers and Prisma pencils. I think he’s a few years old now.
anntogether 