ARCHIVES: October 2009

fake ladybugs
They congregate while fall is slipping away

I thought I was in a wonderland. I wandered into my office/studio one afternoon a few days ago and there were ten, count ‘em, ten ladybugs. Then there were 15. The next day there were 30, and then 40. They were wandering the perimeter of the moulding that separates the wall from the ceiling, some going left, some going right. A few daring bug souls were coming down closer to my level. I found one low on a window covering. I scooped it up onto a fingernail, but something didn’t feel right. The grasp was not so gentle. They were not red. They were a burnt orange color, and had stripes along with the dots. I looked them up, these curious interlopers. They had come in to hibernate for the winter. And more were coming.

As it turns out, you can easily vacuum them up. And out they went, bag and all. So much for being the queen of the ladybugs.

You can look out the window at almost any deciduous tree. It’s a good leaf autumn, our second in a row. And it is speeding by while I am caught up in more necessary details than I care to repeat. I was riding in a car the other day, running errands with an associate, and the trees out there were stunning. I took countless pictures with my mind. I stared them down, those leaves. I am attracted to things in transition, as much as I love the stillness of other things. Or maybe it’s the still moments of things that are in the process of change.

And of course, the color. Especially the tipped leaves; where the tree is green, but edged in yellow or orange or red. Or the ones that have the audacity to be three colors at once, not including shades of trunk gray and brown. I am imprinting these color notes on my brain. I will write them down in a notebook. They will someday appear in new tree paintings. Right now I’m still on azaleas and this new short series mentioned below; “it’s fun being a girl”. These two will take me through fall and early winter.

I am overdue for a jubilee year. For a well-earned sabbatical. A year to just be. I try to notice as much beauty as possible through the petty annoyances and paperwork and reoccuring headaches that clutter too many of my days. It’s a shame though. Fall is my favorite season. And it’s almost half over.

When thinking about starting this blog, my goal was to have at least four or five entries a month. Bing, we’re at four. Opening month was pretty good at eight. This month, I’ve got a lot of ideas, but not so much spare time. I look out the window at this very moment; the sun is going down (or we are turning over) and the sky is pink, while the leaves are darkening yellows and greens in the fading light. It’s quite stunning. In the early 90s at this date I would be preparing for the Day of the Dead celebrations in San Francisco, or the Rooms for the Dead art installations. At a younger age, I would be putting together my Halloween costume. Next October, next October, yes, next October I will write about these. I will post photos. Meanwhile, that's "Orange Pumpkin Trio" gracing this page. Happy Halloween! I'll be ignoring it this year.

Meanwhile, forty fake ladybugs have been vacuumed up, and eleven new ones have taken their place. They think they are going to hibernate in here. They are not. Me neither. See you in November.

posted October 25, 2009

•

owww
Keeping azaleas company

This is crazy abstraction — Interpreting something rooted deeply in the physical realm into something purely in the visual realm without using anything pictorial, and then trying to explain it in the language realm. Word language. Like these words in particular.

Reach a hand deep inside. It doesn’t have to be yours. Grab an internal organ. Squeeze as tightly as possible. Then twist either left or right. It doesn’t matter which direction. Bleed. Turn the red faucets slowly on until there’s a steady crimson flow. Get queasy. Bloat. Heart palpitate. Add whorls of gristle. Bake an assortment of potatoes. String lumpy garnets on a frayed piece of mucosal twine. Howl. Howl at the streetlight, the lamp light, the refrigerator light. The moon has taken her leave.

Completely deplete.

Take that canvas-covered panel you found behind some neglected drawing pads. Choose a few of the trusty old brushes, a pair of shiny new painting knives, that wide synthetic brush someone recommended you try and the rubbery paddle-like thing the boyfriend lent you. Titanium white, a few shades of red, ivory black, permanent green for contrast and some long-forgotten metallic maroon oil paint that smells a bit odd. Go for it. Leave it alone. Let it dry to the touch and then glaze the whole thing down with alizarin crimson (maybe) and go back into it again. And again. And again.

Do ten of these, one for each toe, with the variations being; application and selection of color, differing tool usage, and two canvas-covered panels vs. eight smooth panels.

By the way, don’t ever let anyone criticize you on the first day of a painting, or criticize your painting on its first day of being. ‘Cause if they are, then they are really criticizing you. Or maybe, they are simply criticizing themselves and you just got in the way. Something like that. You need the freedom to start without pressure. Any marks you make in the beginning will only enrich the whole painting in the end.

posted October 14, 2009

•

creative fun from almost nothing
The beach is always better off-season

Choose a word or concept. List all the things you can think of concerning your chosen word or concept. Write it down so you can see it all. Here are some examples for the word; beach (nature version).

Beach elements - Horizon line, ocean, sea spray, foam, sand, beach grass, bubble holes, bird tracks, seabirds, fish, water.
Beach concepts - Sound, color, power and rhythm of the waves, tides and the moon, ancient seas and fossils, salt, infinity.
Found objects - Driftwood, seaweed, shells, pebbles, stones, sand dollars, starfish.

Visual interpretations - Transpose the sound, color, power and rhythm of the ocean as it laps or crashes to shore.

• Use ribbons, wires, string and other fibers to visually describe the sound of the ocean, either in a fiber piece, a sculpture, or a room-sized installation. Work with your choice of a limited range of beach colors.
• For 2D artists (turn us sideways, we disappear) - Do a piece similar to the above using line instead of the ribbons, wires, string and other fibers.
• Working with the colors of ocean waves, create a piece that does not actually depict waves, but feels like waves.
• Create or depict a powerful wave-making machine. Make it appear rusty and salt-bitten, but strong nonetheless. Another option is to make or portray a wave-making monster that is responsible for the workings of the shoreline.
• Think about the rhythmic pattern of the waves. Do a piece that is visually based on the same sort of rhythm.

Here are some other beach-inspired ideas that you can use as a basis for artistic creativity. Use any of these ideas and concepts in creating artwork. You may also combine anything from below with anything else that may be on your mind to make something original.

• Sand: Rocks and shells becoming sand. Colors of sand, wet and dry. Sand as a material.
• Seabirds: Motion, swoop and call. Bird tracks and other footprints, evidence.
• Waves: Salt, seaspray, pieces of rainbow in the crashing wave mist.
• Sea creatures who come near shore: Sharks, crabs, fish, seals.
• Color, pattern, texture, line: Shells, stone, driftwood, seaweed.
• Material and design: Starfish, sand dollars, shells, driftwood, beach pebbles and rocks.
• Meaning: The star in starfish, the dollars in sand dollars.
• Science: The push and pull and churn near the shore, ancient seas, geologic history found in fossils, fossils as design elements and the idea of fossils, the whole body of a sea creature as an art form.

Excerpted and paraphrased from the book;
Creatively Unblocking Creative Blocks
Author: Alexandria Levin
ISBN: 0-9743267-1-2
Published by Painted Jay Publishing
www.paintedjay.com

posted October 6, 2009

•

while pondering the hibernating thermostat
How did it get to be October already?

Tomorrow morning I paint. Today I worked on some postcard layouts for a client, did some research, made some calls, sent some emails, and felt slightly not well (you don’t want the details, and anyway I’m not that kind of writer yet). Still to do - this very thing here. And send some more emails, post a video page for an artist friend, deal with a small paper pile and make dinner. Pizza. Why on earth am I making and/or eating pizza when I have the “feeling slightly not well” thing going on. ‘Cause I want pizza.

Let me tell you about my pizza. I am highly intolerant of wheat. Mostly of eating wheat, but I won’t even collect vintage Pyrex with the wheat pattern. Wheat. Bad. Spelt. Good. Spelt is an ancient form of wheat, but I can digest it; my body recognizes it as food. This summer I have begun expanding my spelt baking repertoire, out of both frustration and creativity. I’m even baking my own bread now. Like it already being October of 2009, how did that happen? Things happen. The earth travels. So I found this wonderful spelt crust recipe online. Do that, add pizza sauce from the can, sauté lots of mushrooms and shallots in olive oil, slice up lactose-free mozzarella sticks, sprinkle with oregano and bake at 350 degrees for 25-30 minutes. Eat! Seriously enjoy! Until last month it had been 12 whole years since I had me a pizza.

So, tomorrow morning I paint. Azaleas. Any possible way I can paint them, for awhile anyway. Lots of pink and green; not exactly October colors. I’ve got panels for a dozen of them and I can prepare more if I feel like I’m not done with painting azaleas. These are an extension of the trees I am painting these days, my “strange forest”. Funny azaleas. There are four so far in various stages of being done. One looks like a flat bubblegum footstool. That will change. Two are already gorgeous. I want beautiful and odd.

Did I have a point? Am I pointy? Sometimes you just have to schedule in the truly important things. And tomorrow morning I paint.

posted October 1, 2009

 

All images and content ©2009, Alexandria Levin