THINGS TO DO IN YOUR SPARE TIME #4

So its New year's Day and you have a hangover. Try some tea and toast. And.. if your bored and have some spare time. Why not recreate the Mona Lisa using your leftover burnt toast?

image by: Tadhiko Okawa " The Mona Lisa On Toast"

Things To Do In Your Spare Time #3

In search of an identity? Yearning to feel special and different from every other hockey mom?
( Sarah Palin are you listening? ) Come on ! Be a part of humanity's oldest, most meaningful art form.Wear your own art. Design and apply your own tat in your spare time.







Ouch, that hurts...

365 Things To Do In Your Spare Time #2

365 Things To Do In Your Spare Time #2

Tired of those old 2009 phone books lying around? Want to do the "responsible" eco friendly thing?
Design your own phone book evening gown to ring in the New Year!

THINGS TO DO IN YOUR SPARE TIME

Bored? Looking for a hobby? In need of something to past the time while you think deep thoughts?Smoke Art: Images created by combining thousands of pictures of smoke to form incredible works of art - Telegraph

10 minute collage

In the last few months I have been making a series of 10 minute collages (thanks for the idea Art Propelled. Here's the first in the series.

Well let's see... Person in silhouette, thick crop of trees obscuring his vision (can't see the forest for the trees?) and a psychedelic hand waving you hoo.. I think its the Universe trying to get my attention.

okay, I'm listening.

Why I Teach

Dear Mrs. "Dub"'

" Thou art a flowering smooth faced- toast."

Love,

Jovanna

I am a teacher

I am a teacher. Monday through Friday I teach art to inner city art students.

Thirteen years now and I have yet to feel that I've got it. That certain lesson or lecture or hands on demonstration that is going to mesmerize everybody, leading them to their own aha moment. I think that's what guides me and eggs me on. What sucks me in most of all are the stories. The quirks, the utter silliness that is us, shown most clear in adolescence.

Sometimes I come home from work exhilarated and content. Sometimes I come home preoccupied and concerned. Knowing that many of my students have a life that I once had keeps me in the game.

I think about when I was in high school. I was an introvert, quiet, no self esteem. Mediocre grades, no motivation really. A voracious reader, hungry for more than what I had. Books took me to another place and time.

I had a Social Studies teacher who took me aside one day and said, "You are much more than this.I see it in you.... Do something about it".

And so, I did.

Back again

I enjoyed a fall break this week. Reading, putzing, cleaning out closets, making interesting meals. Visualize scallops with cream and pear brandy? Now eat them when their not quite cooked through.. ewwww!
Painted backgrounds for a set of figures I'm doing. And then, today as I'm bending over to put a load of whites in the wash... Aiyeee, the back goes out. really, what is up with this body.. She's a talkin. Or is it shouting?

How to kick the "I'm blocked doldrums"

Since July 5th my last post I have been ...thinking. A lot. I suppose deep thoughts. Like this one.
What shall I create today?
And finding myself blocked.
I took Art Propelled's advise http:artpropelled.blogspot.com/ and made mini collages. 10 minutes tops.
I'll post when I can find my camera :D

Sexy Beast

Here is a painting of my husband naked! Oh my...

After Da Vinci

Bad Hair Day

Sometimes in the morning my husband says I look like this!

Camping 101

It's almost twilight when we arrive at our campsite. The sky is a moody dark gray, the clouds hang low and misty. The smell of saltwater tangy in the air.

The rain has been merciless . Sheeting down on us as we frantically gather our camping gear and tent for our night's lodging. The sky has grown more ominous as night inches ever closer. We've done our best to pitch the tent and now have retreated inside. We sit miserable in our sopping steaminess and eat our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, open a tin of cling peaches and thank God for small kindnesses, drink our wine.

We've laid out our sleeping bags. I nestle in and detect a...stink. Yes, definitely an odor.. Oh Shit..
We have pitched our tent on dog poo. We sigh, we cuss, we all get out, move the tent, wipe it down. It rains. We bicker, we exclaim ,we have no choice... We sleep in the car.

It is midnight and I must pee.

I open the door and step out to a wondrous, wondrous sight.
The sky is clear, running from periwinkle blue on the horizon to a deepest indigo where thousands of stars shimmer and wink. I spot shooting stars cascading down and disappearing into the ocean. I hear the rhythm of the waves.

In the distance I spy a lighthouse slowly tracing its golden white light across the heavens...

I smile and breathe it all in.

This is one of my favorite paintings.

Art Therapy

During my "transition" I continued to paint the figure. Looking back I think it was an unconscious desire to heal my physical body. To pay attention to what my body was telling me. And what it was telling me was that I needed to take care of myself.

A few years ago my son left home for college, my father died, I became ill, resigned from my job, got married and moved to another city. I was in transition.

Whenever I feel deeply and need to make sense of my world I paint.
Here's an example of what came seeping out...

Now

I kiss and hug my son every time I see him. My new husband too. The dogs get cuddled and loved up. Petted and exclaimed over.

Today the Lu-ster is laying next to me. Paws crossed daintily. Red collar, license dangling. White with two tan spots. There is a bandaid wrapped around her forearm. Slightly chewed. It covers a skin abrasion she has been gnawing on. She breathes evenly. With an ocassional light snore.
I smile.
Sweetness.
My son lies in the hospital bed. His beautiful olive skin illuminated on the crisp white hospital pillow. Morphine dripping through his arm. He sleeps now. No worries. The operation is minor. I breathe a sigh. Relief.
I look at my new husband and mourn the years that we lost. Grateful for our time now.

This is all I have.

Now.

I walk down the aisle with my cart. Around the corner a gigantic black puppy is learning how to sit. Barely. A sweet fuzzy lhapso pees. My cart skitters around avoids a family with two yappy chihauhas tucked into their basket. Everybody smiles.
I consider the rawhides. Nope, the girls got the runs on those. I consider the hot dog plush toy. Nope, the girls will have the squeaks out of those in under 5 minutes. Kongs? Nope. Lulu is allergic to peanut butter and Honey ate the last one.. Whole.... Ah, the rubber chicken. Bright primary yellow, red feet, goofy cartoon eyes. Perfect.

I purchase the chicken. I take it home. Four golden brown eyes light up. They are ecstatic. Tails thumping. Bodies in tune for the pounce.

Everybody smiles.

For the next 6 months there is bickering over the chicken, there is guarding of the chicken, temper tantrums and jealous rages. There is throwing of the chicken, inside, outside,down the hall,at the walls, on the bed,under the dining table,over the kitchen counters, under the couch.10am, 2 am ,5pm ,9pm . Sitting down, standing up, on the pot,on the pillow. It's the chicken. Who knew this rubber toy would last this long?

It's morning. Lulu has been sleeping with the chicken on our bed. Safely tucked under her paws. Her head resting on his belly.

Everybody smiles.

Red Balloon

She wakes up in the morning. Drinks her cup of coffee. Decaf now. Takes her pills, listens to a little Michael Buble. Showers. Gets dressed for the day and says.. A prayer.

She gets into her blue Ford Taurus and makes the short drive to the local Albertson's. Here everyone knows her as Mrs. Albert Hansen. She has been Mrs. Albert Hansen now for 57 years.
She will always be Mrs. Albert Hansen.

Today is no different than any other day. The sky is a brilliant blue. Nary a cloud. Above a helicopter buzzes by bound for the hospital. She has just an hour or two before the sun comes beating down. Relentlessly.

She looks over the display and chooses. She silently stands in the checkout line. Her lipstick still evenly applied. She pays, walks to her car, gets in and heads toward the mountain preserve.

She parks. Gets out of her car tenderly holding her purchase as she goes. Up to the mountain.
She's never climbed a mountain. Its more difficult than she realized. Yet she perseveres. After all she is on a mission. She takes breaks. She considers calling her children. She feels dizzy, unsettled. She hadn't realized she is afraid of heights.

At last the summit. A cloud floats by. A hint of creosote in the air. She can see the edges of the city. A lone hawk circles expectantly.

She talks to him. Letting him know she is alright. The children are alright. The grandchildren too. Then at last she says another prayer and releases a red balloon. She is sure he can see it even in Heaven.

IS THAT YOU DAD?

I remember the colors that Spring morning. My Dad had just passed after a devastatingly lengthy illness and I was outside on the patio with my future husband. The desert sky was a crisp cerulean blue. The bouganvillla a deep rich vermillion. The birds were happily chirping in the palo verde tree that was filled with abundant golden yellow blossoms. The pomegranate trees were in flower while the scent of orange blossoms filled the air. Yes, the air was sweet but my heart was heavy.

My father and I had always butted heads throughout the years and his death though inevitable was still difficult to bear. All the unsaid feelings, the fears, the misunderstandings, the rage, the "unlovingness" and the illness stood between us. I felt the gulf widening and new this too would not be repaired.

The night of his death I called a Buddhist friend who gently told me that our relationship had not ended. It simply had changed. In my grief and sorrow of his passing and the guilt that came with it I asked her, "How will I know he's alright? He needs to be allright now. She reminded me to meditate on that thought and to think of an image in my mind. Choose something from this earth that I delighted in that would become a sign. It could be a feather, a penny, a cloud formation. Some thing would let me know.

I thought of one of my favorite creatures. The Anna Hummingbird. In my neighborhood they are out and about most everyday of the year. In the Springtime they are especially busy. The best nectar out for the taking.. So, I thought of my hummingbird. That would be it. Dad, if you can hear me. Let me know your allright. Send me a hummingbird.

I will never forget that morning. I sat down. I sipped from the morning cup. And the most beautiful irridescent green hummingbird flew down from that Pomegranate tree. Making a beeline right to me. He hovered at my shoulder for an instant and said his goodbyes.
I love you too Dad...