Four in the morning is awfully Early

View from George R Brown convention Center

Four is an early time for the alarm especially when crawling into bed the night before but how could I miss Festival?

 

It was still dark when I pulled into the parking lot but buses were already pulling up. It didn’t take long before lines were forming in front of the coffee kiosks and registration. I had to hustle to my class with Ann Johnston.

 

The class was full with twenty-five eager students; many from overseas. My tablemate was an expat living in Mexico. We worked all morning; nearly everyone else must have inhaled a package of cheese and crackers for lunch because when I returned from lunch—there were lots of practice blocks up on their design walls. I rather struggled with the machine assigned to the class and so managed to get through just one of the three exercises.

 

first exercise

Second part of first exercise

 

 

 

 

 

 

I hadn’t intended to buy much but somehow several things hopped into my bag.

—Aunt Philly’s toothbrush needle.  My good friend and I had both dreamed about these for years thinking they were beyond our budget—she bought it for me today! And herself!

—two bags of weaving samples in wool and silk/cotton that I think will be fun to felt

—a packet of Japanese sewing needles

–a single felting needle holder that looks a lot like a seam reaper

–Ann Johnston’s new book on Design

 

Wondering through the aisles I saw lots of friends; Jamie Fingal was demo’ing free motion quilting, Lyric Kinard was describing a DVD with surface design techniques, and Jane Davila was maintaining order in Make-It-University.

 

My feet were tired.

 

We had dinner with Sherri’s son—a tuna steak sandwich for me and meatloaf plate for them. The restaurant’s ceiling was painted with angel wing dog-bones and dogs.

Climate Change Blog Action Day

Climate Change in Blog Action

 

Today is Blog Action day, a day in which bloggers around the world all write about the same topic.

 

Climate Change which I interpret as environmental responsibility is this year’s topic. I think there is a natural cycle in weather changes that we are as successful in changing as wishing for a hurricane to not form this year. How we managed to escape another hurricane this year cannot possibly be due to anything ‘we’ did or thought. A grand conspiracy by some group of companies that stand to profit by hurricanes or a particularly evil person’s idea of fun or an invention by a particular political party to sway elections is a great plot for a movie or best-seller—but not realistic.

 

I do, however, champion responsibility. Green zones in cities, clean water and air, trash properly discarded, and judicious use of resources—all of them—and living in a responsible way. Using something just because it is there and throwing it down because someone else is supposed to pick it up is simply deplorable. Stuffing your body with food, getting something new although the old one works just fine, driving around the parking lot endlessly to get a ‘close’ spot are just as damaging to the environment as a candy wrapper tossed out the car window. And although I think the beach cleanups and neighborhood cleanups are misguided—the same empty lot near a set of ‘nice’ houses gets ‘cleaned’ each year rather than engaging the apartment dwellers near an overgrown wooded lot filled with appliances, and furniture, and fast food wrappers—I still stop to pick up trash and put it in the trash can.

 

If all of us were not too good to think about what we do and reduce our personal excess, to live responsibly with terms of our personal environment, then surely that will spread and the whole world will be a better place.

 

more blogs are at:  www.blogactionday.org

 

It’s early in the morning on Thursday and I’m heading to the Houston Quilt Festival. Hopefully I can post from there tonight.

Just Another Day

Thistle

Today was spent waiting for the FedEx delivery truck. The delivery was extra special and had to be signed for—and if I wasn’t here to sign for it, it would be returned. It wasn’t fancy jewelry or chocolates or a new sewing machine or plane tickets to an exotic location. No, it was simply medication—medication that must be kept refrigerated and I am hopeful will alleviate much of the pain that plagues me.

 

And so, I opened the front door and the blinds to the windows, positioned myself within clear view of the street and set for myself the task of organizing my photo files. I figured out how to rip my newly acquired remastered Beatles albums and play them in the background while displaying two windows side by side and worked on a printed outline of the categories. Most of the files had been sorted into ‘best’ and ‘extras’ which really meant duplicates and blurry ones and ones I needed to just delete. At first I looked at every photo, moved a few that were extras into the best group; relabeled some, but then just went for the gold—and deleted all the extra files. My laptop is nearly full and just barely crawling along. The final outline is printed and stored neatly next to my laptop and I promise myself I won’t let it get into such a mess again.

 

What was really depressing was the volume of work I did not produce this year compared to previous years. There were only pieces made for assorted challenges—all very small and four donation pieces—with only one being truly new. Most of the year was spent in finishing up what I call ‘regular’ sewing projects—nothing new or interesting—just regular ‘stuff’.

 

But the year is not yet done—and maybe with that new medicine I’ll feel more like working—if my sewing machine and brushes and paints remember who I am.

Red Cotton

No photos were allowed inside the museum but outside in the garden, red and green cotton were in full bloom.

Last night was the opening of the Fiber Art show in conjunction with the Texas Federation of Fiber Artist Conference hosted by the Houston Fiber Artists. The juror was Tim Harding, an artist whose work I have long admired and who is most gracious and eloquent. I first saw his work hanging in a gallery in Kansas City while attending a Surface Design Association Conference and nearly fell over the stairwell trying to get a close look at his work. His work is multiply layered silks, stitched, and then cut and folded back to reveal the colors underneath. Some of the pieces have a landscape quality about them but they are all meticulously fabricated and gorgeous.

 

Houston’s Craft Museum has a lovely gallery space and it was crammed full of luscious examples of fiber art. There was a huge range of media ranging from felted sculptures, weavings, more traditional quilts, embroideries, and things that were fiber but difficult to categorize. There were almost too many pieces to fully appreciate each one and the place was wall to wall people. Several pieces were stunning from a distance but up close inattention to craftsmanship detracted from their impact.

 

Two of the most interesting pieces (besides mine, of course) were ones that I find difficult to classify. Oscar Silva used a fine buttonhole stitch to define squares in yellow and burgundy on carpet warp; glued an acorn cap in the center of each square and had little pieces of florist wire with bits of turquoise paper wrapped around each end—there were hundreds of these. The other pieces were actually two done in a similar style by Linda Lewis. Also on a background of something that looked a lot like carpet warp, there were either holes that looked like ‘O’s or actual ‘O’s applied in rows. I looked for her amongst the crowd—to quiz her about her method—the artists all had nametags with our piece printed on it—but my back told me it was time to go home.

Breakfast of Champions

Preparation

I really think I must have been a Hobbit in another life as I do like breakfast—several of them over the course of a day and then late afternoon tea. Earlier this week, the box of bran that had been sitting on the island in my kitchen continued to stare rather reproachfully at me. I had bought it in a ‘I need to eat healthy’ mode but then as it was hot cereal and it was in the middle of a ‘surface of the sun’ summer here in Texas, that box just sat there.

 

Breakfast

On Monday, I opened it, measured out a quarter cup, poured in the cup of water, sprinkled a bit of sea salt over it and stuck it in the microwave. I occupied myself by cutting up several apples picked from my farm and scooping out some black walnuts—ditto. The cereal formed a molten eruption all over the inside of the microwave and I ended up eating about a quarter cup of it—the rest I got to scrub out.

 

Maybe that’s how it is so healthy for you—you only eat a small bowl and then spend twenty minutes cleaning up after it. And I see there is a recipe for muffins on the box.

Mini Endurance

First Lap

That really does sound like an oxymoron—like Jumbo Shrimp.

 

But it really means a type of motorcycle and a race that lasts five hours—sometimes eight hours. Sponsored by CMRA, this race was at Oak Hill—just a bit north of Henderson Texas and in East Texas. Pine trees, cows, and giant earth mining equipment surround the race track. As I’ve mentioned before, the race weekend is truly a family event with mostly men and their sons but a few devoted girlfriends and wives and mothers. Most folks camp out with equipment ranging from motorcycle in back of truck and a pup tent pitched nearby to fancy RV’s with satellite TV and a complete mechanic shop.

 

a pair of spectators

I am always amazed at the niceness and generosity of the racers. There is very little foul language, everyone is in bed early—no generators or pit bikes after ten pm—and everyone is bushed after a day on the track. And then, if someone breaks something or needs a part for their bike, someone always seems to have a spare or lends a hand—to their competitor on the track the next race.

 

While my husband catches up on the gossip about assorted riders, I wander about the camping area taking photos. He takes photos of the racers; I take photos of things I find interesting—the flowers in the field next to the track, a little boy hoisted on his father’s shoulders to watch the race, an arrangement of new tires.

 

Brown-eyed Susan

We set up in the field across from the track where I had an excellent view of Turn 2. The day was perfect, in the mid eighties, a slight breeze, and our new canopy easy to setup and generous in shade. Since my latest round with skin cancer, I am even more conscientious about avoiding the sun. 

 

Butterflies—fritularies and sulphurs–danced about the brown-eyed Susans and I chased a few trying not to trip on the vines covering the pasture. My camera can do macros but then just when I think I’ve figured it out, the next photo is a total blur.

 

New Tires

Lunch was a chopped barbeque sandwich with the most wonderful double fried French fries shared with my husband—two bites for me and three fries—and the rest for him. We drove home hardly able to keep our eyes off the gorgeous mackerel sky lit in oranges and yellows and golds and purples. Supper was an avocado with chopped scallions.

 

It was a good day.

Museum Hopping

A day spent museum hopping has always been fun for me. I go to see ‘old friends’ that are part of the permanent collection—Matisse’s Backs and Giacometti’s Matchstick Man in the Sculpture Garden and Poppy Girl in the Modern

giocamettis matchstick man

Art section. I haven’t quite selected a favorite at the Menil but I love walking up to the museum and seeing the huge Red Jack near the parking lot, the undulating trench in the perfectly manicured lawn, and the jungle vegetation in the New Guinea wooden carving gallery. I’m not so fond of the surrealist painting gallery—those are just too odd for my taste.

 

But there’s always something great to see. A collection of sculptor Claes Oldburg’s drawings were on display. I was surprised to see the technical quality with supporting structures and angles of construction noted lightly in pencil. Some pieces truly capture the imagination—a trombone ‘bridge’, two views of a clarinet ‘bridge’, a scissors chasing three spools of thread with needles stuck awry, or a Sphinx with a badminton shuttlecock for a head with the feathers blowing over the ‘face’. What a delightful sense of humor!

 

Another gallery was labeled Body Fragments. There were hair-combs with lower bodies as stands-handles, portions of ancient statuary, Dominique’s personal dress mannequin, an old fashioned sink with a leg dripping out of the faucet and through the drain plus some other equally odd sculptures—all from assorted cultures and ages. Of interest were two drawings by Delacroix—absolutely exquisite renderings of the arm and leg in pen and ink. Then there was a pair of hands—life-size—that were used as curtain pulls in the 18^th century. What sort of room would you have had those hands in? Bedroom?

 

Outside the Menil families picnicked on the lawn, a man threw a ball for his dog to chase, a mother and her daughter climbed into a magnolia tree to spy on bees in the blossoms,  a group of tourists bicycled by—speaking in Italian (I think)—and I was able to visit the Cy Twombly gallery—being the first (and probably only)_visitor of the day. His paintings are huge –twenty feet high or more and stretching the length of the galleries. I wondered about the mechanics of making such paintings—the size of the studio, applying the paint and pencil marks, transporting them. The Rothko Chapel was also open—I have been there several times but find it to be a very dark place—and not just because the lighting is strictly natural and the day overcast and threatening rain.  The Byzantine Chapel is on the corner opposite—and is a place of serenity despite its opulence.

 

A tour bus was parked at the Museum of Fine Arts—and the Café Express was filled with retirees all trying to order their lunch before spending the day at the museum. One man picked up two trays—one was mine and one another person’s—thinking that the chili and sandwich he had ordered came on two separate trays—so I had to wait for another one to be made. I wonder what he thought when he ate potato soup and a BLT instead of the chili and steak sandwich he had ordered.

 

Artwork from Vietnam was the featured exhibit. Several shipwrecks have been discovered recently with some wonderful samples of fine china recovered. Vietnam is divided into three sections; northern, middle, and southern with each displaying influences from nearby cultures. Some of the pottery had impressed patterns on the interior, some stood on a small foot-pedestal with distinctive brown and yellow striped glaze. Buddha was well represented with many different renditions—and they all seemed to be smiling and content.

 

crosswalks

Outside, the crosswalks were painted with illusions—looking dimensional rather than flat pavement with the occasional patched pothole. I took a few photos with my phone—not my best photographic effort but it was sprinkling. Other works by this artist include much more elaborate dimensional pieces with the best effect seen from only one spot.

 

My last stop of the day was at the Houston Craft Museum. I needed to deliver a piece of artwork for the upcoming Federation of Fiber Artists show beginning in October. New studio artists were just settling in, the previous exhibit was being dismantled, but in the lobby was a collection of ‘shoes’—not particularly wearable but absolutely fascinating. The soles are made of solid wood and range from 6 inches high to 15 inches high. One had a band-saw blade used as the ‘strap’ of the shoe.

 

And now I wonder, when times are ‘bad’ as perhaps they are now, artists are infused with humor. And when times are ‘good’, artists produce work full of ‘angst’ and social commentary—or is it just the function of the curators in charge of these exhibits?

Bits and Pieces

Red Door

The past few days have been rather dreary weather wise. Rain off and on for the past three days was badly needed but makes for soggy newspapers, splashy driving, and a craving for hot tea, good book, and comfy armchair. My garden was smiling, though, and I picked another good sized bag of okra and a huge zucchini.

 

Last night was art night. Lamar University Art Department faculty show-case some of their work each fall as a way to start off the school year. Students are expected to attend and usually two or three of the faculty discuss their work. Keith Carter, photographer, had some wonderful new pieces combining the views of his retina with Hubble space photos. I never liked doing retinal examinations—it felt too close to looking at someone’s soul—and these were personal but universal. I think it is some of his best work.

 

Kurt Dyrhaug, sculptor, had some exquisitely finished imaginative and playful ‘tractor fins’. As a Midwestern farm girl, tractors were part of every-day life—and his pieces—he’s also a Midwesterner—are fun and reminiscent of those tractors. One piece has a tractor seat mounted on it. They have wheels—and are more like gliders but with finely fitted wood slats, sanded and finished to rival a fine wooden floor.

 

Butch Jack, sculptor, continues his work with rigidized foam. This is the stuff in a can that you get to fill in holes—he has found a way to make it black and rigid. The final pieces look like they are metal and very heavy—but they are very light.

 

Jamie Koessel had a series of tiny framed pieces using his signature stick figures reminiscent of Klee’s Twittering Birds and colored pencils. His work is always playful and imaginative—and I picture his studio as filled with light and Captain Kangaroo playing in the background. I was the only one chuckling as I moved down the row of his work; the students following me were all ‘SERIOUS ARTISTS’ in training.

 

I spoke with the head of the department briefly about critique sessions. That is what I miss most from my classroom days—and the energy from many different art-forms. She said you needed to get it where you could. Still—I long for that interaction.

 

I didn’t think to bring in my camera for photos but it was wall to wall people.

 

The Beaumont Art league also had an opening which I attended mostly because the train blocked the road to my house. That also was jam-packed with people—a surprise because it was football game night—the first of the season.

 

It was an interesting night.

 

And now, I’m going to find a recipe for zucchini bread.

Dragonfly and Turtle

Dragonfly

Several months ago a speaker at the local quilt guild brought Shiva paintsticks and Tjaps for a hands-on lecture—my favorite! Our instructions were to hold the tjpap firmly, wrap-fold fabric over the business end and rub lightly with the Shiva Paintstick. There were quite a few to choose from but I picked up this dragonfly and the turtle. It was a surprisingly easy technique and I have ambitions to make a jacket from similarly created fabric.

 

 

Turtle

These two samples lingered somewhere in the middle of my to-do basket until last month. I backed them with more of the same fabric, used a batting of flannel, and  two new spools of variegated rayon thread. The lake and reeds near the turtle are thread only. The edging is seam lace rolled into a rough sort of yarn and zig-zagged on. Triangles are on the back top corners forming a pocket to place a hanging device—a pencil will work.

 

Both of these pieces will be up for the reverse auction starting in October in the Art for Autism annual event. Here is the addy for the site. Last year I bought two lovely pieces made by Beth Wheeler–it’s a nice way to get some artwork from artists around the country while donating to a good cause.     http://www.artnowforautism.com

With my flurry of finishing things, I am beginning to acquire a nice stack of pieces that will be my donation stash. People tell me they can recognize my work but I must confess that sometimes I will look at something and ooh and aah over it—and find much to my embarrassment that I made it. I’ve thought about it and think that my joy comes in the doing, the finished product is not my aim. And so it is easy for me to see pieces leave.

Portrait of Okra

Although I can’t share my supper of okra and tomatoes, I can share these closeups. Being a Northern gal, I had always wondered what okra looked like–and cotton–and banana trees–and live oaks. Like famous pieces of art, there is something about being in the personal space–to measure up against those pieces.

Okra Flower

the flowers are about 3 inches across and are a lovely creamy white with a deep purple center and a buttery yellow pistil.

apical meristem or the top of the okra plant

Here is the top of the plant–it will continue growing taller. The stem is about an inch and a half thick at the base. They are not easy to remove. They might have been the original beanstalk that Jack climbed up as they are very sturdy.

Okra pods in bucket

I use buckets captured from a local doughnut shop–this one used to contain apple filling–as my work buckets around the garden and shop-dyeing/painting projects–carefully separated as to purpose. Okra has a lot of spines on the leaves and stems and pods which is probably why the resident deer/rabbits/cattle egrets carefully ignore them. Although I am harvesting every other day or so, sometimes the pods become woody but you can’t tell just by size, you have to try to cut into them.

My garden is not exactly a cost-saver. It is not very large; just three raised beds two feet across and eight feet long propped up in place by cement blocks and mulched heavily on both sides to discourage runners from San Augustine grass. I’ve had to replenish the soil every year/ replace the weed-barrier on the bottoms every other year/ and water fairly frequently. My harvest does not substantially lower my grocery bills although now with just my husband and myself to feed, they are minuscule compared to the orphanage days with three boys and their friends.  But the joy I have in digging in that dirt, seeing what’s in bloom, gathering the fruits of that day, and eating it that night–as they say—priceless!