stuff about artstuff.

New York Minute (Plus Extra Bonus Surtex Advice)

Hey there Blog Pals!  Look what I just found, a post I had written a month or so before Surtex. 

Normally I would say something shiny must have caught my eye to draw my attention from this and cause me to forget it, but in the month leading up to the show, it doesn't even take shiny objects.  Could have been anything.  Piece of dust, a hiccup, a loose eyelash, who knows. 

Anyway, here you go, a couple months later:

 

I've been traveling to New York for the Surtex show every May since 2000.  So long now that many of my family and friends have stopped calling it Zyrtec or Syntax or Snorkel or Merkin, and actually remember, and can say, its correct name.  Not all, but many.

As my annual pilgrimage Eastward looms nearer, I am reminded of some of my favorite little moments from past shows.  Not the kind I usually share with you here on my blog, but those odd little private moments that most likely, only I appreciate.

Just last year, this memory is still quite fresh: I found my Happy Place, for about 3 minutes until I was called back to my booth.
I cannot disclose the ultra-top-secret super-hidey don't-even-try-to-find-it location, but oh my word that was an amazing bagel. 

Or there was this pearl from 2006.  Next to my booth was an alcove left empty for the fire-extinguisher.  At some point during the show, a folding chair appeared.  This particular day was bustling and noisy, but this gentleman managed to sleep rather soundly in the hard little chair for about 45 minutes. 

Another favorite chair-related moment, this one walking back to the hotel after the last day of the show in 2007.  A priceless little still-life on West 34th Street.
God I love New York.

You get extra points for today if you remember my little friend Ibbs.  He is actually a useful and practical Bucky neck-pillow that I take with me on airplanes.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
But that face, gosh how it makes me smile when I get back to the room after a long flight, or even longer day at the show.  I just can't help it.

And speaking of long days, the following is still in the running as one of the longest in my entire life:

3 or 4 years ago, on set-up day. 

Sloshed through the streets with a hand-truck in some kind of crazy out-of-nowhere monsoon, after finding out the main Manhattan FedEx office where I'd shipped my displays had recently moved from its convenient location across the street from Javits Center to 11 blocks north.

Good times.

Crossing streets that were literally underwater.  Actual rivers with cars driving through them.

Soaked to the bone (you should have seen the looks on their faces when I splashed through the door of the FedEx office like a soggy dish-rag).

Dried off some during the long hours that followed, setting up my booth.

Exhausted and starving at the end of the day, I could not decide which desperate urge was stronger, so I multitasked.
I am not sure I have ever had a more satisfying slice or a more comforting, refreshing bath.

This time of year, the old Interwebs is bursting at the seams with Surtex advice: new exhibitors looking for it, and seasoned ones giving it.

Although he may not appreciate me sharing this here on my blog (but here I go anyway) I believe Husband-Guy has the all-time-best-bottom-line-Surtex-advice-ever.

A few years ago, it was that usual last-day-afternoon-lull after what had been a very busy show for us.  We finally had a moment to breathe, and he left the booth to walk around and take a peek at the rest of the hall for the first time.  When he came back, he said, "I have 2 pieces of important advice for anyone exhibiting at Surtex: 1. Always have a smile on your face, I don't care how miserable you feel, and 2. Never, ever sit in your booth like you're sitting on the toilet."

Since then, I have been too often reminded when walking the aisles exactly what he was talking about.  It's impossible to never be caught off-guard while "on-display" at a trade-show.  You can't get lipstick off your teeth without making a horrible face.  People yawn.  Heads itch.  Clothing scoots out-of-whack and requires adjustment.  All this happens under those bright lights in a 10' cube, we've all had that sheepish look on our face at one time or another when we realize it's happening.

On busy days with no time for an actual lunch-break, I've been approached more than once having just stolen a bite of something big, chewy, messy, or God-forbid all those things at once, from behind my booth-table.  Actually, doing so pretty much guarantees that the incredibly important person (or group of people) you've been dying to meet with will pop in at that exact moment. 

And many will falter, just for a second: you take a deep breath, lower your head, rest your elbows on your maybe-too-widely spread-apart knees, and forget where you are, even if just for a split-second.  You may not notice in your periphery that someone is passing your booth, and if you could see the look on their face you would be painfully aware that it says,"ew, that guy looks like he's sitting on a toilet." and you can be sure that they do not want to see what fabulous art you are showing on your now might-as-well-be bathroom walls, they are going to dart away quickly, trying their hardest to erase that image from their brain forever and ever.

The highs at Surtex, or any show, are supercrazyhigh.  The absolute exhileration of making deals, brainstorming projects and collections, compliments flying every which way - the excitement is amazing.  This is why we pay the big bucks, it's what we've been leading up to all year.  There's nothing like it.  But between those highs are moments that can feel endless and tortuous in comparison.  For those of you new to the show: be prepared with incredible endurance, patience, and thick skin that you never imagined necessary.  Really, you'll need it.  I don't care who you are, you will.

But don't forget to enjoy those moments, those odd little private moments that most likely, only you will appreciate.

Don't forget those during this busy preparation time, either.  Stop and breathe.  Take a walk.  Smell the flowers.  Listen to music you love.  Light a calming candle.  But if you do, never, ever, ever, EVER do this:

(yes, you're really seeing that).
And that, my friends, is the single best piece of advice I can ever give you: "don't set your art on fire" (unless, of course, you are a conceptual artist and fire is part of the piece itself and you have all safety issues under complete control - other than that, don't do it).

Dia de los Muertos

Halloween's not the only skeletonicious holiday just around the corner, don't forget the 3 day celebration following Halloween...

And for all your Day of the Dead craft-y sew-y needs (you don't think I'm serious?) Joann has brought back my fun flower-skulls pattern again this year!
You can purchase the fabric here or in-person at your local Joann store.

Lurkers Welcome

No, really.  I know you're out there, and it's ok.  There seems to be much ado about the comment thing here in Blogland.  Most consider it impolite if one visits a blog but has nothing to say.  A breach of etiquette to read in silence.

But I've always known that many of my "regulars" are lurkers.  You mention it to me in person, or by email.  Or, my personal favorite ... this was at the bottom of a particularly adorable and cool Christmas card we received this last year... 
(hi k) ...makes me happy to know that there is some connection to people in my life that maybe I'm not talking to as often as I should be, or would like to be ... makes me smile to know that you're out there, even if you're not feeling chatty.

I myself am a pretty shy person.  I know, I know.  Here I am putting myself out here on the Great Big World Wide Interwebs for God and Everybody, and I claim to be shy.  But no, really.  I am.  There are some blogs I've stumbled on, loved, and go back and visit whenever I get a chance, but still have never had the nerve to comment.  I know!  I am a lurker.

I just don't always have stuff to say. 

Or I'm bloghopping on the laptop with Vista, which fights with pretty much all the blog-provider sign-in cookies and sometimes erases comments and shuts down when I try to leave them, so why bother. 

Or, I just don't have stuff to say. 

There was an 8 year lapse between the first time I was introduced to Husband Guy and the time we actually struck up a conversation immediately falling ridiculously and obnoxiously in love, completely aware of how and with whom we would spend the rest of our lives.  During those 8 years, I would see him now and then at parties; we would make short but pleasant small talk and go our separate ways.  My reason for not striking up a conversation? "I don't know, he was always making everyone around him laugh and seemed really funny and entertaining, and I just never had anything clever enough to say to someone like that."

Friends who put up with my constant jibberjabber have always rolled their eyes at this one, but 18 years later, I guess I'm the same way when it comes to chatting up folks I don't already know.

In regular life, one is maybe considered quiet or thoughtful, but in Blogland we become Lurkers.   Mysterious, secretive. 
I do enjoy gabbing with buddies on their blogs, and I can't say I don't totally appreciate each and every comment that I do get here ... you make me smile every time I hear from you, really you do!  But Lurkers, it's alright.  I do it too.  I'm just glad you're here.  I hope you enjoy yourself.

And since I brought it up, although I'm not usually much of a linker or networker here in Blogland, I decided it's about time I give a polite nod toward some of those entertaining and beautiful blogs that I do visit every so often, but have maybe never had anything clever enough to say while visiting (see the new sidebar links!). 

The Legend of the Fallen Creature on the Beach

We came across this guy on a beach walk and wondered who we was, where he had come from.
Just lying there on his back, with dem teeny tiny little feets in the air.
Little Miss Agatha was pleased to be able to give him a proper dog greeting.
When your nose is only a few inches off the ground, good bottom-sniff-greetings are hard to come by.

He had landed quite peacefully, actually. From the trail of clouds, it looked as if he had been launched somewhere in central Oregon. But where ... and why?

For thousands of years, deep within the thick deep old-growth forests of Oregon where some of the oldest trees on the planet reside, there has lived a tribe of woodland creatures that no human has ever seen. The creatures are shy and secretive, and cherish their quiet life among the giant evergreens. Long before even the first Native American set foot on this continent, they erected a grand statue of Magic Wood - a monument to their society and their home in the ancient forests.
As rumors spread throughout the old-growth forest that a logging operation could be closing in on their pristine and private homeland, they realized they must relocate to a deeper, denser area. But their grand monument - he was much too large to carry with them (the creatures are very small, you see). What would they do? If they left him behind, Evil Loggers would try to cut him with their saws, maybe even burn him with fire, and the secret of the Magic Wood might be revealed. The statue must go as far from Evil Loggers as possible.

Some of the little creatures decided to build a catapult, and thrust their statue into space to live among the stars. But the older, wiser creatures realized that Magic Wood was much too heavy to make it all the way to space, and would fall short; they suggested aiming it toward a land birds had told them of: The Beach. The Beach is a magical place covered in soft sand, which would provide a gentle landing for the statue. And even better, there was a beach north of them that was the longest, straightest sandy beach on the face of the earth. This would be perfect ... a 28-mile runway in which to land.
The creatures gathered in a somber ceremony to bid farewell to their monument. Their world was changing, and all they could hope was that they could find a new little piece of forest in which to live, forever hidden from humans and their destructive ways. They watched as their grand monument launched into the sky, as if on fire - contrail billowing behind him - far, far, away, to land softly in the distant sands of the Long Beach Peninsula.
There he rests peacefully today. As predicted, humans have tried to destroy him with saws,
and with fire,

but he is made of Magic Wood, and he remains solid and constant - a silent monument to the Creatures of the Old Growth Forest.

And Now, for Something Completely Different:

Did you know that bubble wrap just turned 50?     
Yes, I am a known bubble-wrap hoarder and addict.  As a child, it was not uncommon for a new toy to be tossed aside until the "poppy-paper" it had been packed in was satisfactorily flattened, one at a time (I'm sorry but I've never approved off mass-popping by smashing or stepping on the stuff).  To this day, certain close relatives will save it and give it to me as a special treat on holidays, to which I react with uncontrollable excitement and glee.  Yeah, I know.

So I hope you will take a moment from your busy day, from the stress and worry of real life, to celebrate this monumental occasion with me.  Allow yourself to destroy a sheet.  No really, a whole sheet.  Next time, you can pack stuff in some of that other paper or peanuts I'm sure you'll find in the spare room or basment.  It's alright to waste just one to celebratory popping.  It's its birthday.  And you know it will feel good.

Or, if you don't have a piece handy, use this one.

There's One Every Year.

Tomato with a face, that is.

I had wondered in the last month or so if this would be the year - the year there was no face in the garden. A little upsetting, I must admit. But today while wrapping the last few green ones plucked from the icy grips (alright maybe not quite icy yet but wet and miserable for a tomato) of November's rain and hail storms to ripen inside, I finally found him. Quite adorable, I must say. Tomatoes can have the cutest faces.

So now I feel complete somehow; satisfied with the harvest ... and I will be savoring these last few juicy tidbits as they ripen, before cardboard-tomato-season begins again (sigh).

Good Intentions and Plain Old Brown Leaves

I have been particularly enamored with big leaf maples this past year or so.  I'm not sure why now, I've been surrounded by them my whole life here in the Northwest but for some reason last year I went from pleasantly complacent to privately obsessed ... with each subtle change in color from week to week all year round, the variations of color in each tree from top to bottom, the mere size of each leaf. 

I have been especially obsessive this past month, making notes in my head about every change I see and every color I perceive. I've been totally geeking out on this.  So on a little walk last week I decided to gather some to photograph and scan for color inspiration, and eventually draw them.  I meticulously gathered and neatly stacked each leaf, only the most perfect specimens showing the myriad of color variation and pattern, from vibrant lime to fluorescent gold to gorgeous coppery burnt sienna.  Oh boy this would be fun.  How cool was this.  Oh yeah.  I hummed and smiled at myself, I was just so pleased by this plan.  I told you.  Geeking out.  Totally.

I brought the neat and tidy stack of brightly colored leaves into the house and set them down.

And that's usually where this sort of thing ends.  You know how even the best intentions can often dry out, curl up, turn brown, and eventually get dusty. 
I have passed this brown pile of leaves a thousand times this past week and haven't really focused on them.  Today I stopped and smirked at them for a second, thinking they sort of sum up my entire month of October in the same way that this little sketch seemed to sum up this past July. 
That wasn't meant to sound devastating or melodramatic, there was just a lot of stuff going on.

So, usually, this is where I beat myself up gently and move on.  Oops. Missed that chance.  Geez Beth, that was a waste.  Oh well, off to the compost pile, let's get this out of the way.  But then I took a closer look at the brown stack of leaves. 
Wow. 
I mean, I realize that most people on this entire side of the earth are trudging through piles of rotting brown things that look exactly like this, raking and blowing the buggers out of their way ... there is nothing special or different about these dying pieces of plant material I have ignored for a week.
Just some brown leaves. 
That's all. 

 
Only one kept a hint of it's former yellow glory.

 
It might not be what I had intended to document, but  I was (maybe not so surprisingly) still smitten with them, even after the sunny bright splashes of color had faded. 
Nothing wrong with a plain old brown leaf, I guess.

As for good intentions, I suppose even dry, dusty ones can get a second chance to shine.
 

Welcome Fall ... a Couple Days Later

Well, while my computer was down for some minor surgery this week, I seem to have missed some important dates.

First, Fall officially arrived.  Just like that, right on schedule.

You can find this new design as another great RE-flag (all recycled material, how cool is that) by Toland Home Garden in your favorite garden center.

Next, did you know that yesterday was National Punctuation Day?  Ohmygosh, how did I miss that?  I feel terrible, really I do.  I should have celebrated appropriately... I will make up for that by trying to be more diligent about using correct punctuation here in my blog - you know, as a penance of sorts.  Has it been driving you nuts that for the past 139 posts I have not only overused but misused my dear, sweet ellipsis by butting it right up against words on both sides?  The humanity.  I am so ashamed.  I guarantee I will never give up the overuse part, as it is my absolute favorite punctuation ever ... but I will start giving it the respect, and space, that it deserves.

In the mean time, any grammar-junkies out there feeling guilty about missing this important holiday can chuckle and cringe at some of the photos on this page.

And finally (no, I hadn't forgotten) I totally missed the day I had promised to draw names from a hat for the fat quarter bundle of Love to Craft!  So with no further ado, let's get to it.  You know the drill:

Cute vintage hat, check.  Comments printed, cut, folded, check.  Pieces of paper scrambled and scrunched around without looking (do you have any idea how ridiculous this is to attempt while trying to take a picture with the other hand?), check.  Winning slip of paper pulled, check.

Sandy, congratulations!  Once I get your mailing address I'll send your goodies right away!

Numbers Schmumbers.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am not affected by numbers.  To me, numbers are just shapes.  I have to work pretty hard to make them mean something to me.  And I do; I can get by, I can run a business and a household...the left side of my brain isn't completely empty, it's just mushy.

But from the very beginning, others have been assigning numbers to me, and those numbers supposedly mean stuff.  That's alright. 

The numbers that really mess with me, though, are the ones assigned to how many years I've been on this earth.  They make absolutely no sense, seem completely foreign and not at all indicative of just how grownup I think I am.  Today I am assigned a new set of those.  I suppose they are nice shapes, the new numbers...neat and tidy in a way.  Good combination of straight and curvy lines.  But I can't help but make a face when I say them out loud in reference to myself.  Doesn't feel like they really describe me.  Makes me sound old.

So to make myself feel better about that, today I am going to focus on and post pictures of things that are older than me.  I don't have to look very far, most of the stuff I tend to surround myself with is older than me.

 

My house is older than me.  Flattened-out tobacco tins were used as spacers between the cedar shakes on the original roof.   I was fascinated at the original builder's frugal practicality and dug through the rubble on the ground when several generations of roofing material were removed, desperately trying to salvage every last one.  I wondered if they smoked all that tobacco while building my house (if so, they probably did not live to be older than me so officially they can't be part of this post). This one sits in a bed of petrified wood chunks.  Petrified wood is older than me.

So are most rocks.

This Douglas fir was probably planted in the front yard when the house was built.  That makes him older than me too.

I guess some stuff stays shiny and sparkly, even though it's very, very old.

 

I'll keep that in mind when I'm faced with these new numbers.  Shiny and sparkly.  And younger than most rocks.

We've Got Mail.

This big old thing always gets me when I'm in NY.

Standing there in its Parthenonian glory...column after marvelous column reaching toward the heavens, in such a neat and tidy way. All those stairs. The whole block is just stairs. Straight lines. Powerfully straight lines. Strong right angles. Low center of gravity, for a big-city building.

It feels so....so secure. So trustworthy. Solid.

I mean, honestly...is there anything else, besides, maybe, Kevin Costner on a horse, that can give you solid warm fuzzies about the mail? Think hard. I didn't think so. You usually complain about it, right? I know you've made at least one snide comment about stamp prices this past month. Don't tell me you haven't. We all have. You've probably heard me rant. I know, I know.

"Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds." Don't tell me reading those giant words stretching across this grand edifice doesn't give you a little rush of...I don't know, a possibly unfamiliar good vibe of some kind. It's alright, I won't tell on you.

Illustration Friday: Legendary

From my Moleskine: just a little ode to some of the legendary icons of Seattle. 

After the last issue yesterday, the Seattle Post Intellignecer, our city's oldest  newspaper, joined the ranks of the Kalakala, the Twin Teepees, Frederick and Nelson, the Rainier Brewery, the Supersonics, and countless other entities and landmarks which are now just part of our city's history. 

The PI was around since those old-timey prospector days, when this place was the Gateway to the Klondike. 

Now, it will exist as an online-only news source.   

Those local folks who found themselves unemployed after the last run on Monday night can in all fairness lash out at me for even mentioning this, let alone go on and on as I'm about to. Lash away guys.  Sure, I can wax nostalgic about the daily newspaper as an institution, about the smell of the ink and tactile quality of rough newsprint, with a sudden unexpected fondness for the grubby black smudges on my hands and clothes, or even that little jerk who used to manage to crush at least one blooming bulb every time he blindly tossed a paper over my fence. I can ramble annoyingly about a world where co-workers would gather around a crossword puzzle during a break or strangers in a coffee-house or on the bus would share sections of the paper rather than avoiding all human contact by texting or web-surfing.

I could go on and on...but I'm one of the guiltiest parties in the decline of the daily news printed on a piece of paper. Like many others, I learned the news about the PI's last day online.

I know.

Who am I to wax nostalgic over something I did nothing to support when it most needed me? Well, I'm just a serial nostalgia-waxer...I can't help it. I still turn my head trying to focus quickly as I drive past, hoping to catch a glimpse of the skinny-house in Montlake or the weird-white-lump "building" on lower Queen Anne, only to see shiny perfect boxes that look the same as everything else built in the last decade; I feel a painful little tug from deep inside when I realize I'll never again eat a greasily delicious after-hours feast at The Doghouse, where the fluorescent orange gooey goodness oozing from my grilled sandwich is rivaled in cheesiness only by the drunken sing-along led by Dick Dickerson and his organ that wafts from the dark bar along thick clouds of cigarette smoke.

Yeah, I'm the girl who actually paid money for a carload of stinky old chairs and tables from the Music Hall before it was torn down, who dragged my nephew to the imploded carcass of the Kingdome the day they opened the site to the public to gather armloads of broken concrete, small pieces that had once been our big round stadium. So it seemed only natural that I would actually make the effort to buy that final issue of the PI yesterday (again, the former employees can all shout "where were you last month, last year...?" while throwing things at me, I'll take it). But I was too late anyway. Boxes all over the city were empty by the time we started looking at noon. My own jaded guess was that before the sun even came up, armloads were taken all at once after dropping in the first few quarters to open a box, and that they would all show up today on eBay.  I'm afraid I was right.

I'm nostalgic but I'm not crazy.

Stuff changes, and I guess that's ok.

But something that will remain unchanged is that I will always speak fondly of things I remember from our city's past, with little stars...or are those little kitschy neon signs...in my eyes. Those of you with JP Patches episodes on DVD tucked away in the back of your  media cabinet, who, try as you might, can't help but crack a smile when you hear the words keep clam, you will understand what I mean.

Beth Logan 101

The goofy title is for 2 reasons: first, while I wasn't paying attention, I managed to write 100 posts. Whaddya know? So this, tada, is the 101st. The other reason...well, here:

Ok, we all know I have a procrastination issue. But eventually I get to stuff, really, I do. And here's proof. A short time ago a few months ago, I got tagged to play the 7-random-things-about-me game. Then I got tagged again. And again. It's not that it didn't look like fun (because it did) and it's certainly not that I didn't totally love reading the things that my taggers wrote about themselves on their own blogs (because I did). They are all 3 fascinating and talented people...2 of which have never driven a car. Who knew?

There's Elizabeth Metz, who I found myself drawn to over and over again when drifting through links on Illustration Friday. Her beautiful illustrations always catch my eye...and she is smart and clever and I just found out it seems we have the same favorite movie! How many other grownups do you know who still fall back on a silly fairy tale as their favorite? You can read the other 5 things I haven't already blurted out about her here.

Then there's Amber Alvarez. I was lucky to get Amber as my new neighbor at Surtex last year and she's been cracking me up ever since...she's got the biting wit of a real New Yorker but has never lost that Island sweetness. Oh and her art is awesomely adorable. I dare you to say that, along with her full name, 3 times fast. Even if you can't do that, you really must read her hilarious 7 things.

And last but certainly not least is another Surtex buddy Gina Rivas, who creates art as warm and bright and gorgeous as she is herself. If you don't already know Gina, you really ought to check out her blog & website and get to know her and her beautiful art! I only get to see Gina once a year at the show and it's been fun to get a peek into the real Gina on her new blog!

And now, the 101 part. Actually in blabbing on and on about myself so in the past 100 posts (I had a hard time thinking of 7 new things I haven't already told you) we're probably up to a much higher number, but for the sake of the post we'll still call it Beth Logan 101:

7 Random Things (most of) You Didn't Already Know About Me, in No Particular Order.

1. I have always been a grouch in the morning, even when I was little. A real bear. Growly and hairy and with claws. Ok, mostly just growly. Delicious coffee has become a very important part of my morning. But not this important.

2. When I was a little girl I named my first cat Henrietta, after that slightly creepy meow-meow-meowing puppet on Mr. Roger's Neighborhood. I think she sort of resented the name...my Henrietta was a rather crotchety and ill-tempered little kitty.

3. After dropping out of art school I went for a whole year without drawing or painting a single thing. I'll never do that again. Sometimes now I might have to go weeks at a time without putting a pencil to paper, for some reason or another. When that happens I get really cranky and can't wait to start creating again.

4. I have freakishly long toes that can bend twice....in, and then out again. Or in twice, like fingers bend. I often pick stuff up with these prehensile toes instead of bending over. I can't draw with them though. Are you familiar with these amazing people?

5. Since I've already covered my favorite movie of all time (anyone want a peanut?) we'll move to second favorite: Pee Wee's Big Adventure.

I have always been a Pee Wee Herman fan. I can't help it. Watched Pee Wee's Playhouse every Saturday morning back in the day (yes I was already a grownup then). Got Pee Wee and Chairy action figures for Christmas one year, but my first puppy Stella devoured them. Don't talk to me about shady theatres and scandal and mugshots and such. I can't hear you. My fingers are in my ears and I'm shouting "blah blah blah..." I love Pee Wee.

6. I was "legally blind" until I was 6 years old. All that means is that I had pretty lousy vision which improved after wearing glasses for a few years. It remains pretty lousy, but is much better than when I was little. I've worn glasses or contacts since I was 18 months old. I've recently started seeing better, close-up, without either of them. This really freaks me out because it means I'm that age...when people's arms aren't long enough to focus on the thing in their hand, when you hear things like, "I can't see that...I can't find my reading glasses", when you may spy me peeking over the top of my specs with that granny-gaze, squinting, entire face stretched and twisted into that scowly mug that only old people's faces can stretch into. That expression that makes teenagers cringe unconsciously. I have news for you, teenagers. You know why you cringe? It's because someday you will also make that face. Believe me. I thought I never would, but this is terrifying and horrific...I do it. I make the face.

7. 7 is actually my favorite number. My birthday is on a 7th. At birth I weighed 7 pounds and 7 ounces, and for years my mom had me convinced that I was even born at 7am. More recently, though, I got hold of my birth certificate and it says 11:45am. Oh well. But that might give you a clue as to where I got my habit of harmless story-improving exaggeration. Still I'm all about the number 7. I met Husband Guy (whose birthday has a 7 in it) on a 7th, and we got married on yet another 7th. I could go on and on...

Alright. Finally, the last part of this 7-things-game is that I'm supposed to tag 7 more people. But here's the thing: since I took so long to get around to it, every single person I know in Blogland has already done it. I'm the last one. This is what I get for procrastinating. So I'm afraid I'm going to cheat and skip the last step. But thanks to Gina, Elizabeth, and Amber for including me...it was fun! And the rest of you, have you gone to those girls' blogs yet and checked them out? Really you need to do that now.

Hope, and Then Some.

Here's a word we're hearing a lot this week. 

And isn't that nice, after all? Feels good, the positive energy in the air. So refreshing in a dreary winter and difficult times. I do hope folks can keep the good-vibes part up...I'll try. Really I will.

Hope doesn't stand alone, though...it requires a little more for dreams to be realized. Hope goes hand in hand with Faith...believing in your heart what you can't see, knowing deep down that what has not yet come to be actually can, and will. (But wait, there's more). As feelgood and nicey-sounding as they are, those 2 things can't stand alone, either. We can't just sit back and hope for stuff...even with faith in our hearts, without doing anything about it, without action. Dreams require nurturing. Upkeep. Actual work. Thing is, when we're working toward stuff we care enough about to hope for and have faith in, it's not so much a chore, is it?

Yeah, I know.

I've been thinking a lot. Too much, you say? Sorry.

But all this thinking has inspired me with the last 3 better-late-than-never freebies I had promised you for Blogiversary week. I've taken my 3 designs, Hope, Faith, and Nurture, and created memo-pad designs from them for you to download and use to your little hearts' desire. 

You can view and download the high-resolution versions by clicking on each word: Hope, Faith, and Nurture. Saved and printed at 200dpi, they'll measure 4" x 11".

Being an avid list-maker myself (no, really...you have no idea) I thought it might be a fittingly useful item for these sentiments. I mean, what are lists if not little glimpses into the future of things that have not yet come to be; just a bunch of stuff that is hoped for, that you will work toward and accomplish. And then...well, then the really satisfying part comes: crossing the completed item off the list. I know some list-makers who relish in striking a long, straight line through the entire item. Others who get a thrill from completely blacking it out with scribbles. Myself, I'm a box-filler-inner...oh boy, do I love filling in boxes.

How do you cross off your completed tasks? I'm curious. Really I am.

I've always wondered what those different styles of list-crossing-off meant about people, if anything. It's one of those terribly unimportant non-scientific long-term polls (no, really long-term) I've been taking randomly since grade-school (yes, that long-term), right up there with why people who don't like either tomatoes, cucumbers, or watermelon usually don't like the other 2 either...and people whose elbows naturally pop outward when they lean on the heels of their hands on the edge of a table seem to have sticky-outy-er ribcages than those whose elbows stay inward when they lean that way.

As a little kid, the results seemed so much more conclusive and significant. These days it's simply an unfortunate situation if I accidentally fall into a conversation that has anything to do with lists, watery produce, or elbows; I can't help myself and all too soon I realize it would have been best had I kept those mysteries of my childhood to myself...but still, I wonder. Sort of.

Anyway, here's to feeling hopeful. And having faith that things will get better. And nurturing those dreams by working toward our goals. Together even.

And finally, I know I don't need to say this to you, but I have to put this here:

Downloadable "freebie" images from Stuff About Artstuff are protected under copyright law and are solely for the private use of my readers; they are not to be reproduced for commercial purposes of any kind. If you are interested in an image you see on this site for commercial use, please contact me to discuss licensing terms. Thank you!

The Junk Drawer

Alright, I have a confession to make.

I really, really hate taking down Christmas decorations. I actually love it when I'm finished, everything feels clean and fresh and new, even though it's just the same old house it was before the holidays. But getting started...ick. I hate it so much, I can easily procrastinate the whole ordeal...put on blinders and envelop myself with work here in the studio instead; there have been years the stuff stays up way too long. Nightmare Before Christmas sort of long. Festive, yet creepy. We won't talk about that now, though. It's today I'm talking about now.

So I started cleaning this evening, with all good intentions of making real headway on the decoration thing. I got what I thought was a pretty good start but then, you know how you'll be doing something, and somehow your focus shifts unconsciously and later you're not exactly certain how you got there? No, just me? Alright. Well, somehow I ended up, after packing up only a few decorations, spending hours cleaning and organizing several drawers. Yes, I hate taking down Christmas decorations that much. Cleaning drawers! I can understand unconsciously migrating to the kitchen to, say, bake brownies and eat the whole pan...or to the couch for a nap, or downtown to buy fabulous new shoes...later wondering how it happened, but drawers?

In a small house with minimal closet space, drawers are pretty important. Drawers in every room are packed tightly. The bed has drawers in it. The living-room hutch drawers house tools and other seemingly non-living-room type things...we're drawer-crazy here. But the mother-of-all-drawers is The Junk Drawer.

You know The Junk Drawer. Everyone has it. The big one in the kitchen, with stuff you need every day right there at hand. It's also the place where bizarre junk goes to die. When there's no other place that makes sense for something to go, it gets tossed into The Junk Drawer. 98% of the time, when Husband Guy starts a sentence with "Where is..." or "Have you seen..." that's where I send him. You know exactly what I'm talking about. So yes, that drawer, crammed so tightly with everyday objects yet cloaked in a shroud of mystery, that drawer was emptied, cleaned, and organized this evening. I suppose decorations will wait another day.

After all this meticulous organizing and purging, one would think I might show off my fabulously neat and tidy drawers in a Martha-esque photo shoot. The clean 90-degree angles. The ever-so-satisfying contrast of negative space. Not a rubber band, paper clip, or cup hook out of place. But no...even now, I don't know...these drawers somehow feel a little too personal to put on The Interwebs. I know, I'm weird that way. But where I'm not willing to show you what stayed in the drawers, some of the stuff that came out of The Junk Drawer is an absolute must-see.

What the? Talk about "no other place that makes sense for it to go". This one surprised even me, although I'm sure I'm the one who put it there...all the way in the back of the drawer...that mysterious dark alcove that remains hidden from view even when the drawer is pulled out as far as it will go, there it was. Dippity-do? This is the original stuff I tell you what...I think it was something my sister found in a cupboard and made me take home, you know, "because it's old and weird and kitschy and I dig that kind of thing". I'm afraid to open the jar. I have a vague memory of Dippity-do sort of stinking. I'm not in the mood to remind myself in exactly in what way it stinks right now.

And the scary electrical stuff...no, that's not just in the drawer because it's old and funny like the Dippity-do. These things were mixed in with electrical stuff that's supposed to be useful. You know, useful in this century. This reminds me of that scene in A Christmas Story when Darren McGavin goes to plug in the lamp...remember all the plugs crammed together on a single outlet, the sparks, and the puff of smoke? And here are the fuses, ready and waiting for him when that does happen.

But this...this makes it all worth it. The final step in the project was to take the big pile of loose little papers that had grown on the counter as I purged and organized, with the intent of not saving a single scrap unless absolutely necessary...old receipts, recipes cut from packaging that I never seem to have made, you know the stuff. It's The Junk Drawer. All I was doing was separating the to-recycle from the to-shred, but then I came upon this tasty little tidbit of wonderfulness.

Beef-in-a-Mug. What could be better? Apparently not much; these folks look like they've never experienced such bliss. That woman is in heaven. Can you just hear her giggly moan while she slurps up that zesty brown liquid? And the dude...well, I can't tell you what he's thinking right now, this is a family blog after all. But look, little girls even love a hot mug of beef. And why not? Are you in the mood for a juicy steak but don't want to bother with all that pesky chewing? This is your lucky day.

I mean, right here...this is the stuff that makes me wish I wasn't one of those crazy vegetenaschnarian types. Look what I've been missing. I could be this happy, basking in the salty steam wafting from my toasty warm mug of beefy goodness.

Beef-in-a-Mug. Enjoy it today with someone you love.

Alright. I know. This is supposed to be an art blog, and I've been showing you stupid pictures of weird stuff in my house for weeks now, going on about the weather...blah blah blah. Don't worry, I still do art. I've actually been busy back in the studio again (you know, avoiding those dusty decorations) and catching up with work after a long winter's nap. Or something like that.

And there seems to be a Blogiversary coming up here next week (yes I've been rambling on like this for a year!) so stay tuned for goodies...yes, real goodies...of the giveaway and freebie sort.

But first...the decorations. I know.

Well, What Do You Expect in October...

...but (sort of) scary looking things coming from the garden.

This wonderful little mutant is a Chianti Rose tomato, an heirloom that's a cross between Brandywine (big beautiful rosy-pink things, have you eaten them?) and "an unnamed Italian variety". At 80-days (kind of pushing it here in our short-tomato-seasonPacific Northwest, especially this year) none of these guys were ready for eating until very recently...and even then, the least-green ones have only been plucked from their vines right before tomato-cracking rainstorms to ripen in the kitchen.

Even on the vine this cross looks to me as if the Brandywines are actually devouring this poor little Italian tomato like some B-movie monster gobbling up helpless victims, but this one seems to have literally done just that.

Oh, and, in spite of its seasonally appropriate ghoulish appearance...it was absolutely delicious last night with a little salt and pepper. Mmmmm. Me like yummy monsters.

Things I Left Behind.

Alright...it seems as if it's taking me forever to finish all my follow-up and new work from the recent Surtex show. It's sort of like I'm not really back from New York yet, even though I have physically been back for almost 2 weeks. Normal-life, including friends, family, home, and regular-old-fun-stuff has taken a backseat as I scramble to make the best possible first impressions with new contacts and do whatever it takes to please my current clients I met with while I'm still fresh on their minds. Weeks are already slipping by so fast I see them only as a blur.

It really is an exciting time of year for my business, hopeful and fresh...and for some reason I never seem prepared for how overwhelming the schedule will be. I think maybe that's because in those crazy-busy months leading up to the show, when I'm so deeply entrenched in preparation, the most-uttered phrase is "I'll have time for that after the show". As if life will magically become simple the second I land in Seattle. The kind of simple I haven't known since I was a little kid. Why, I'll get up every morning and eat pancakes, sit in my room and draw whatever I feel like, maybe even ride my bike to my friend's house and play until dark. Mom will call me inside when it's time to eat dinner. Yes, that's how it will be, after the show.

OK. So it's not like that.

I am still crazy-busy. I haven't had a chance yet to see people I care about. Wander through blogs. Reconnect with friends. Read. Really, really clean the house. Although when I first returned I did spend some quality time weeding (crazy giant Seussian weeds with roots that went all the way to Australia) and murdering thousands of slugs and snails (ok, I don't really murder all of them, many are beneficiaries of my own special relocation program...I cannot disclose their current locations or I may jeopardize the entire program, I'm sure you understand the delicacy of this situation), "normal-life" is still really only a memory, and a hope for the near future.

All that being said...just before I left for New York, suddenly there were several things I really wanted to share with you here. Yeah, there's a list. And I will get to them, really I will...eventually, along with the rest of real-life. But for now, a teeny-tiny sneak-preview... New things growing, new products hitting stores, new residents in the backyard, favorite things, Etsy (yes Etsy, soon), and 18 bolts of flannel (hasn't even been unwrapped yet). And that's just from before I left...I haven't even started with New York stuff yet.

Oh boy we have a lot to talk about.

Soon.

Illustration Friday: Leap

 
There's a slight possibility it could rain frogs at IF this week.

I'm sure you've heard of this, but maybe haven't thought about it very much or very recently. So here I am to remind you...throughout history there have been reports of for-real frog-rain. 

It could happen to you.

Really.

They say it's caused by a big wind (like a tornado) picking them up from a body of water...then just depositing them somewhere else. Somewhere they most likely don't belong. In 1981, frogs from Africa landed in Greece. Poor little guys...if the people experiencing this thought it was weird and creepy, imagine how messed up those poor little frogs felt.

It can also be caused by lots of other illustrators thinking of frogs when they hear the word "leap". The cool thing about other illustrators, though, is I have no idea what they'd think of. But it could happen, you never know.