Our fig tree produces a bumper crop of fruit this year. There were so many figs that cookies, crumbles and preserves were made several times. All the neighbors were happy to receive a little jar of preserves. The best recipe came from adding the fig preserves to brussel sprouts, mustard and turkey bacon (which could have been regular bacon or prosciutto or no meat at all). So good, that even a member of the family that normally hates brussel sprouts had seconds! Pretty good.
Along with cooking I’ve become obsessed with painting the little plump cuties. Here a couple that I’ve put on my sales site:
I have a thing for trees, nature, and the earth in general. I was trying to get a family member to understand what I feel about nature. He has never completely accepted my devotion to the planet. I never really tried to explain, I only went on my way painting, planting and talking to birds and marveling at the natural world. Finally, I figured out how to tell him. In fact why hadn’t I said this before? It was so simple. I told him to just pretend the earth is your child. Would you subject it to any harm? No! Of course not. When it was put in terms of something he could relate to (he has a daughter that he’s devoted to) then voila! He got it.
These are some of the new original watercolor cards on my sales site.
BTW, I tried to edit the last post which was almost exactly like this one and somehow deleted the whole thing. Sorry for the repeat.
Big nature day today out my door. Early this morning we saw a family of pheasants – parents plus five babies! No photos, sorry. Trust me, they were beautiful. Later, we saw a snake. Either a garter or ribbon snake. Teens dive bombing head first into the water and lastly, my main man, who found the most disgusting, standing water in a ditch to enjoy.
The place I grew up was heavily wooded. It offered a place to escape, play, build forts and feel free. I had a route that I followed through the woods. In the winter it led to a frozen swamp that I skated on. In the summer I went to an outcropping of huge rocks that tilted towards each other to make a cave. It was one of my many secret retreats. I would always leave something in the cave like a button or ribbon. When I came back the next day it would be gone! Someone, animal or person was taking my cave offerings! Pretty sure it wasn’t a person.
This doesn’t look exactly like my cave but it’s close. Plus I can’t really remember seeing any purple trees in upstate NY. http://sales.penzart.com
I THOUGHT the choice of grocery store was “today’s challenge.” You see, I shop for my 99 year old mother a few times a week. She has her favorite store where she knows all the brands. She’s 99and get whatever she wants, even though I’m not a fan of the store.
So, with list in hand, I walk into “that” store and pick up her huge bag of oranges. She eats tons of them; maybe that’s her secret to longevity. Also on her list: eggs and ice cream. And even though it’s not my favorite store, I thought I might as well pick up the sponges since they were on sale. Wait a minute! They have sparkling water in glass bottles on sale! I stuff four bottles that clink noisily in my cart. Add one avocado, and now I’m fully engaged in the shopping trip.
I paid for mom’s first, which fit into one plastic bag and then paid for mine which stuffed a large canvas tote. Trudging out to the car with my slightly off balanced bags, I was thinking random thoughts like: I can’t believe I found stuff at this store! And, it’s a bit chilly. I looked at the sky to see the beginnings of a storm. The thoughts continued, maybe I’ll be able to make it to the wine store and home before it really starts to pour, the sky, that is, not the wine. Glad I wore my waterproof hiking boots, wool leggings and velour dress. If it does start to rain I’ll be warm and ready!
With that last thought, I felt the shoelace on my left boot snag one of the lace hooks on the right boot. “Sh**t!” I yelled cursing as I was going down. My knee hurt or was it my hip, or both? I didn’t want to get up. It was kind of nice down there on the pavement and I wasn’t done swearing yet. Good thing I had my mask on because it slowed down the flying expletives, but not much!
A little grey haired old lady came to my rescue. She helped me get up and collect my groceries. Damages? First, my favorite wool leggings were torn at the knee – very unhappy about that. Mom’s huge bag of oranges – only one was split open! But the eggs! Why is it always about the eggs? How is it that the avocado and the glass bottles went up in the air and landed with nothing squashed or broken? But the eggs? Half the box was oozing yellow. Omelets, anyone? If I wasn’t hurting so much, I’d still be on the ground laughing. Of course I fell while carrying eggs, of course! Eggs, meet earth. Earth meet…you know the rest. I was a walking, tripping cliché!
The little old lady quickly grabbed the bag with what was left of the eggs and ran inside. “They’ll replace them!” she shouted. “I’ll be right back.” Wow, hooray for little old ladies! I’m going to be like her when I grow up!
Lesson learned from this event – How about, tie my shoe laces? The store wasn’t so bad after all.
I saw one of my neighbors walking her dog. We stopped to chat and she said she was engaged to be married and that they had bought a place in the city. It was so sweet. We talked about her moving on and becoming an adult. I thought about my life as I draw little kitty-cats on a stone wall talking to the moon. Am I un-adulting? Do we revert, getting mentally younger as we age? Will I be going all the way back to finger painting and crayons? This drawing and several others are from a children’s story I wrote recently about a cat that worries she’s losing her home and her best friend the moon, only to be surprised by how it all works out in the end. Hopefully I can get all the drawings done soon! They’ve become cards for sale on my site. sales.penzart.com
Yes, a little corner of the paper it torn, the paint comes over the edge, and my corners aren’t square. I’ve always had trouble with perfection. Perfection requires patience, which apparently I don’t have 🙂 Having said that, how can there be life with no cracks, torn corners or smudges? It’s unnatural. So the question is, do I just not have the right amount of skill, talent or control over my art? Maybe I’m making excuses for not being good enough to pull off a perfect piece of art. Or do I like imperfection, like the philosophy of Wabi-Sabi? It’s probably a combination. It might be time to explore this more deeply. This is a painting on mat board sales.penzart.com
This is an unframed botanical watercolor, acrylic and colored pencil painting. It is floating on an 8×10 mat board.
I wrote a sweet little children’s book and am trying to decide what medium and style to use. It would be nice if the backgrounds didn’t overwhelm the main character – a cat. I’ve tried pen and ink and it was just a little too boring for a kids book for this particular story. Colored pencil mixed with graphite has captured my interest lately but I’m not totally convinced. Without knowing the story I can’t really ask for thoughts but I’d thought I’d share what I’ve been working on.
I made this card thinking about valentines day. I reflected on what that first dizzying few years felt like. It was floating in our own orbit, not much mattered but the magnetic pull between us. Even with rough times the pull was, and I guess, continues. This picture could also be I the last picture in my book the Glass Bottle. sales.penzart.com
Another card entry with description @ sales.penzart.com
For decades I was lost in my own head trying to figure out what life was all about. Why was it so difficult, and why don’t I feel like I belong? After a lot of reading and tons of meditation I figured it out! It’s all about opening up the heart chakra. Really! When that one piece is open the world opens. I found I didn’t have to struggle as much with judgmental relationships. As it turns out I was the one judging. Opening the heart allowed me to go with the flow and just live in a gentler place.
Love should be an easy thing to write about, but it has so many moving parts. Our marriage has been pretty steady over the past 18 years, but it’s a balancing act on a roller coast all in slow motion. It’s subtle. Weird sneaks up out of nowhere and then dissolves with a laugh, a talk, or a walk in the woods. As soon as we can focus on each other for a few minutes, all the feelings of safety and warmth comes flooding back.
This one painting has gotten so much attention that I thought I post it on my sales website and share the story behind it. This is what’s written in the description of the painting. sales.penzart.com
A whimsical painting if crows had a bar. I imagined my own experience at bars and night clubs (many decades ago). As an introvert I’m usually observing. Expressions, body language and big gestures were fascinating to me. This started with a small soft sculpture of three crows on a branch. On the branch are martini glasses and beer bottles. Eventually it turned into a painting. The outer frame is roughly 23″ x 19
Birds have always fascinated me. When I was about three or four years old I very clearly remember asking my mother when I would get wings so that I could fly. She said she was sorry but people don’t get wings. I thought to myself what use is a body that can’t fly? I asked her if I could get rid of this body that felt like a lead weight and get a body with wings. She was not at all happy with that idea. I was crushed.
I’m slowly adding small paragraphs to each of my paintings and cards on my sales site. ( sales.penzart.com ). For instance here is a painting and what I said about it in the description. Sometimes I’ll add something to the description that I remembered, so it’s evolving and yes I need an editor. In the meantime, here is the card and the description that goes along with it.
My older brother once made a holiday card that was elegant and sweet. It was a branch of a Christmas tree with an ornament on the ground and bird tracks surrounding the ornament. You never saw the bird just his tracks. I keep trying to duplicate the simplicity and beauty of that card. He also drew a candle monster. I was about five years old and knew from that drawing that I needed to create images that came to life like his always seemed to.
President-elect Joe Biden has said “Wearing a mask is not about making your life less comfortable or taking something away. It’s to give something back to all of us — a normal life.”
Indeed wearing a mask has so many positive side effects, that I’m not really sure what the fuss is about.
Take me for example. At age 64, my self-evaluation can best be summed up by the late ‘70s band The Monks and their song Nice Legs Shame About the Face. Yup, that’s me in a nutshell. l have my father’s skinny legs, long neck, not-a-lot-of chin, and punctuated by a large nose. Add to that, since Covid I haven’t gotten my hair cut or dyed. The total effect is chestnut brown hair plus a smattering of silvery grey ( ok, maybe slightly more than a smattering) which hangs several inches below my shoulders. Basically I looked like a goose with long hair. So when you add a mask, here is positive side effect number one: I lose 25 years, a larger than life nose, and a sagging jaw line! What more could I ask for?
Wait, there’s more! Did I mention my big nose is always cold? I guess because it sticks out so far in front of me it loses body heat. So positive effect number two: when I walk the dog in the woods behind my house, I’ll put the mask on for warmth.
My nose warming has an unintended positive effect number three: when a runner or bicyclist shows up on my path, they all of a sudden develop a conscience when they see me and quickly yank their mask into place or at least give me a wide berth. Good, right?
Nothing else to do but isolate in my studio while waiting for a covid test result for my 98yr old mother. I had just visited her and she wore a mask that was way too big. I spent maybe 10 minutes adjusting her mask and discussing her laundry that I was dropping off.
The test was negative! I kind of liked spending deafening alone time. Door closed with nothing to do but paint. The 24 hr wait was a little unsettling. I two big thoughts. Food. Who would feed me? My husband is not into food at all and I am 🙂
The other thought was that I felt sorry that the family would be burdened with all my artwork if I were to die. Lunch first though!
August 27th. That’s s Might’s’Well Day. Never heard of it? It started about 40 years ago, fourteen miles off the coast of Maine, on an island, on top of a mountain, in a cabin. Max and I started it that day as we lazed around watching the sky for eagles and the ocean for seals. “Should we go down to the water and get some mussels for later?” I asked.
“Might’s’well,” was Max’s answer.
You can guess where this is going. With every adventure and question asked or suggested, the answer was the same.
“Let’s jump the rocks (huge boulders line the coast)!” I said with bucket in hand to get the mussels.
“Might’s’well.” Max said in his casual, hippy way.
“Go swimming, have lunch, take a nap, walk to the quarry?” All questions were answered the same way. By the end of the day it became official. Somehow through all the years, no matter where we are, August 27th remained “Might’s’Well Day!
Just ask any question on that day and see what response you get.
So many rules to selling oneself! I’ve been told to tease the product, which in this case is hand-painted greeting cards. Then I’m to hash tag the f…k out of every nuance and thought about the card (which for some reason to me is like eating spaghetti left handed in a tornado). Anyway, here is the tease progression for one card that’s on sales.penzart.com
I am. I’m in Northern Va and it’s still deadly out there! However, I am taking this time to become addicted to wine and making cards. Please buy cards to mail to your loved ones and SAVE THE USPS! go to: https://penzart.square.site/
I’m also selling painted grow bags for your balcony container garden 🙂
By the way, is anyone else feeling deadly afraid at the least little cough? I’ve had the worst ever allergies, unlike ever before, and they come with a sore throat and upper respiratory congestion. I don’t want to “open up,” and go out, I want to isolate further until there is a fix, and yet I want to connect, go shopping and see my kids, friends and 98 year old mother! Tough emotions, tough times.
…I did the illustrations! I worked last year with a constitutional lawyer/teacher/tv pundit. She wrote the ultimate guide to voting that everyone should read today regardless of age, gender or ethnicity. Even as I have voted all my life, I found so much in the book that I didn’t know. I don’t read much non-fiction but this one is a must. It’s a quick, easy read but so informative!
In an article in the Wash.Post the writer added that the illustrations were amusing. (that would be me :)). I’m also going to take credit when another famous pundit said the book was entertaining. I didn’t get cover credit but I did get mentioned on the inside with a copyright. A great first for a lowly unpublished artist – that would be me too.
The only disappointing thing was the size of the drawings, the paper it was printed on, and the drawings had originally been done in color (as directed) but was printed in b&w. Having said that, it was fun job and I learned a lot!
The written content of the book however, once again, is worth it!
Who knew that registration might not stick? We just pre-registered for an absentee ballot for this November. If you’re in the states, do it!
Like everyone else during corona time at home, I’ve been cleaning and de-cluttering. Above our garage is my studio with three closets, a stack of shelves and a couple of vertical files for photos and paintings. All of these storage nooks and crannies are packed with 40 years of art supplies, books, and with a trillion hiding places. If nothing else, all of this adds up to the insulation of the room above the garage.
As it turns out, those trillions of small hiding places are perfect stink bug motels. I’ve concluded these noisy, little beasties are not only dumb, but I think they might not have totally evolved into their full potential. Yes, they’ve picked a warm place (probably because of all the insulation), but there’s nothing to eat up here for a stink bug, and all they have to drink is dirty rinse water from paint brushes. Occasionally a stink bug will be floating in my tea but not often. Those few times are usually from a mistaken nosedive miscalculation, like the kind you see in a cartoon.
So it turns out that my studio doubles as a stinkbug graveyard. I found many dead bugs inside leftover material at the bottom of a bin of fabric. Or they’re in rolled-up reams of paper, in between books and inside drawers. If I move one thing on the floor, like let’s say a box filled with wrapped up paintings, underneath will be no less than 4 or 5 dried bugs. Who knows how many will be inside the box!? Admittedly that one box is pretty big. Is there such a thing as self-vacuuming floors, because that might solve my dead bug problem? I swept the stairs leading to the studio today. Five, overnight, all dead!
When the weather hits about 65°F, I have a jars ready, all over the house to swipe up the little buzzing things. It’s the first thing that has to happen in the bedroom too. It’s a drag getting dive-bombed by a stink bug just before falling asleep. Or worse, what about when your spouse gives a well-meaning smack in the head in his effort to catch a bug? That happened the other night. He thought I wouldn’t want to deep breathe a stinkbug while I slept, so I was rudely awakened by a swat! He caught it with no passive aggressive intentions on his part, just concern. They hide in the folds of the curtains too and in the blinds. We have a window seat in the bedroom. I’m kind of afraid to look under the cushions.
When I catch one alive, I always set it free outside. I’m sure someone will discover that stinkbug stink is the cure to covid 19 and I’ll be dubbed a murderer for my bug-trapping-studio-morgue. It’s got to be a karmic setup, I’m sure of it. An enlightened monk or shaman will come along and tell me that I housed, but did not feed and ultimately killed thousands of stinkbugs that could have saved a million covid patients. Therefore, in my next life, I will probably suffer some horrible, physical malady and the only thing I’ll be allowed to drink is dirty paint brush rinse water and an occasional cup of tea.
I’ve never been much of a group person. In fact one time I almost turned and ran in the other direction when I had to take college classes (on-line) with a bunch of other people. If I didn’t have to share my opinion or my work that would be one thing, but they wanted me to be a people person and participate with enthusiasm. Why does everyone want you to be a people person? I swear the world is run by extroverts. They want you to belong to a group and not only contribute but do it with gusto!
Obviously I’m an introvert and that’s just a small part of my introvert/extrovert rant, but thank you for listening. However, now that I’m semi-retired, I have started wondering if there would be a benefit for me to be in a group. Mostly because “they” (the experts who are probably all extroverts)keep saying you live a better, fuller, longer and healthier life if you have friends to engage with. So, I thought I would at least look into it. It would be my anthropological study (that’s’ how I was told to get through life as an introvert). Sit there, study everyone else, speak only when approached but do it with a big friendly smile. No one will know there’s terrified shy person lurking inside.
Can I tell you a thrilling aspect of corona induced isolation that you might not have considered?
Two pieces of background you need to understand the thrill. First, you have to know that for decades I’ve worked as makeup artist in film and television. Second, to understand my perspective you would either have to be a woman, a tv reporter, tv correspondent, an actor, or a television pundit.
Ladies first: Have you ever gotten your makeup done at a department store and your artist smelled like he or she had eaten a pile of Roquefort cheese from the compost pile? No. The answer is no you have not! They are a scrubbed cleaned and polished lot, always hyper aware of their personal hygiene, their appearance, smile, and whether there is any possibility of emitting offensive odors. It’s a thing. This is for obvious reasons especially so we don’t turn off any current or potential clients because of a slight miscalculation from a night of pungent odor producing debauchery. Before work it’s an intense workout of showering, and the heavy lifting all the various personal cleaning products needed for the kind of clean, freshness required to be in close proximity with others.
So imagine this; for the last 40 some years in tv and film I was one of those conscientious stylists. Out of respect for my guests (sometimes called victims – playfully of course) I wouldn’t eat garlic for dinner the night before or heaven forbid at lunch during a shoot! And if I did happen to eat the pungent herb(bulb, vegetable?) during the week, or a Sunday night, I would apologize profusely the next day as I did someone’s makeup at arm’s length (hard to do). I’d lightheartedly say, “I’m sorry, pardon my garlic hang-over.” They would laugh and say: oh I don’t smell a thing, but that would be because I would be holding my breath in between eyelash applications.
Now for the first time in decades because of isolation, I am using far less products, mostly just soap, shampoo, modest amounts of deodorant and…fanfare please…I can freely eat as much garlic as I want!!! I’m so excited for the first time in years I can really reek and I don’t have to apologize!!!
I never thought about this before but now I can eat garlic anytime I want because of current mask-wearing-etiquette. My clients will think I’m just being politically correct! Genius, thank you covid 19, you just made a huge change in my life, that is if I ever get my job back.
Without testing in Fairfax County Virginia, I’ll never really know for sure but I believe I have (or had and am now on the upswing) covid 19. I had all the symptoms like the flu with a very dry heavy chest. I’d like to share some things with you if you get the virus and what helped me.
I’ve been careful about my diet. A lot of fresh fruit, veggies, carbs and protein of some kind, and of course very dark chocolate is – a necessity in my world. I also tried to include things like spirulina, zinc and elderberry, olive leaf, l-lysine and monolaurin. The point is, that nothing except the zinc felt like it had much of an impact. Toast was my friend too as was Turbo Soup (that’s another story).
The most powerful change came last night when I did some creative visualization. I had just watched the movie The First Wives Club. At the end they sing the song, You Don’t Own Me, which I decided to dance and sing to the virus the way the ladies sang to the men in their lives. It actually felt empowering! I felt like I had a foothold in a raging viral river and wasn’t being dragged along anymore.
Continuing my visualization, I set up a wood stove in my chest and put a wide pan filled with sugar. My thinking was that everyone and everything likes sugar. As the sugar melted the virus came and jumped right in. By the way, the virus in my mind were luminous blue blobs. They were quite beautiful actually as they floated around and down into the pan of bubbling syrup. It was working! Once I had them in the pan, they were pretty much done for – cooked. In case there was any question in my mind, I pour the melted virus onto a bowl filled with ice cubes. Now the sugary mass froze into a solid virus candy which I buried deep into a hole that I had imagined. Done? Not quite.
I still felt like I had a rock on my chest. Through all this meditation only way to breath comfortably was to lie at an incline, even then I had to breathe into my abdomen because my chest felt so heavy. Visualizing continued. I imagined what the weight on my chest looked like. I gave it shape and color and lifted it off my chest. It was really heavy but I felt some relief! I asked it what it wanted from me and it replied, “strength.” I thanked it for the lesson and put it in the hole along with the candied virus.
I think I fell asleep after that and dreamt about caring for baby tigers that the zoo could no longer handle.
Except for not having enough air to speak at full volume I am feeling better.
I think the strength the rock was talking about is to offer my help. If I can help you with some easy ways to meditate and visualize, feel free to get in-touch (leaving 6ft of course). Calling right now you’ll get a whispered response. Stay home and stay well xoxo.
A weird thing has been happening since staying home to avoid the corona virus. In my effort to not angst about the spread, I’ve strangely stopped caring too much about my appearance, maybe just to have one less thing to worry about. This might be partially fueled by the giant pimples I keep getting at the end of my nose. One goes away and another appears. What’s up with that? Who did I wrong in a past life to get end-of-nose-pimples at age 63? Continue reading →
Sometimes the camera on the cell phone turns on by itself. If I were paranoid I’d say someone was watching me through that innocent little lens. An actual picture is rarely taken but sometimes I’m feeling a little exposed (pun unintentionally intended). I’m sure it’s just my clumsy handling of a delicate piece of technology, like a butt dial. Is there a name for that like a cheap shot or something?
In any case, some of the random shots were intriguing enough that I felt the whole shoot-at-will thing needed some more study. What I found out is that being “random” on purpose is really hard! It was almost painful to not compose the picture, not adjust the surroundings and so on. Could it be that I just can’t let go of my “eye” and the need to make the shot right? Maybe that takes a certain type of personality. Someone that can let go of control. And here I thought I was just that loosey-goosey-artist-type that could do that. Nope, apparently not. But I’m going to keep try until I get bored with it.
It all began on a farm hundreds of
years ago miles from town. There was the farmer, his barn and workshop, the
chicken coop, and his chickens.
One cloudy day in the summer while
feeding the chickens, the farmer looked at the sky and said, “Glad it’s going
to rain today, the fields are dry.”
One chicken heard the farmer and
was taken with the sound of his voice. She cooed and clucked along as the
farmer spoke. Indeed, she loved the sounds of the farmer’s voice so much that
from then on, she would travel from the hen house each morning to the farmer’s
house just to hear the farmer talk about the weather.
The farmer enjoyed the routine too.
Each morning he’d go outside, and wait for the chicken to make her way from the
hen house. It was quite a distance, but she made it every day. The farmer would
then talk about the weather and the chicken would coo and cluck along. After the weather report the chicken would
make her way back to the hen house where she would go about her daily job of
pecking and cleaning.
After so many years of this
routine, a very clear path was worn from the hen house to the farmer’s house.
When the farmer went to get the eggs each morning, he would also use the
chicken’s path, and eventually the path became the main trail leading past the
barn to the hen house.
Eventually, other families joined
the farmer each bringing their own skills. One family rented the farmer’s
workshop to fix wagons, and with time, the wagon repair shop became the busiest
part of the farm. The wagons would roll up to the workshop just behind the main
house. Once repaired, the wagons pulled passed the front of the farmer’s house
and went on their way back to town. Eventually, a path even larger than the
chicken’s path was created around the farm house by the wagons. That path soon became
the main road running through the property. With wagons going this way and
that, it was clearly the wagon’s road that crossed right over the chicken’s
path, not the other way around!
So you see, the question “Why did
the chicken cross the road?” should never have been asked. After all, it was the road that crossed the chicken’s
path. All this time the chicken has been wrongly flagged. It’s a classic
example of prejudicial gender targeting and ethnic profiling! If it had been a
rooster’s path, there never would have been a road in the first place. The
wagons would have been re-directed by the rooster with a toll collected by the
hens. The rooster crowing at the top of his lungs, would then declare himself
an expert urban planner and get paid double whatever measly sum the chicken gets
Great Falls Va. has a community of artists and crafts people. My table will have hand-painted cards, all my kids books (five now and counting) watercolors and a few mixed-media/embroideries (sounds complicated but it works!) Here is an example:
Love to see you there if you’re in the area. Not sure which building I’ll be in but enjoy it all!!
This book is an easy reader. I really don’t know if they are any good or not but I loved doing it! My stories don’t have a lot of conflict and definitely no violence. They are just for fun. I think my excitement at finishing this one is with the illustrations. I’m beginning to feel a little more competent as an illustrator. It doesn’t come easily for me but here we go!
On my daily walks with our dog, I saw some crocuses. Spring is just around the corner. So fun when all the color bursts out of the ground and from the trees! It made me want to do a loose, free painting.
I liked that one so much I did another!
I love just swinging the brush around!! Splash, swipe, sketch, sketch….voila!!
I am trying
to learn self-promotion. First question: how do I know I’m good enough to
promote myself? Originally the point was to get rid of art that I call closet
stuffers, or insulation. But, silly me, I doing the whole social media thing
with digital downloads which doesn’t help get rid of anything! So again, why
bother? I hate to say it but maybe I need the acknowledgment, or social
acceptance? Would I go as far as to say I need praise? Jeez – pathetic.
to me is so far from the artistic process that it becomes cumbersome. Like the sizing
and editing of prints in photoshop – pixels, inches, resolution etc. Yet here I
am putting my silly little paintings (cartoon-ish looking animals) on Etsy, and
Pinterest while promoting them on Instagram. Nauseating somehow, but necessary.
Wait, why is it necessary? I can’t imagine that I can make a living off my goofy
little digital downloads. This all must be in the hopes that people
(publishers) might explore further and buy (want to publish) a book or two? Yes,
I do write fiction.
Well, apparently when you post from your phone the pictures come up on the right sidebar…Not a techy, I don’t get it. But, if you click on the pear and the little arrows, that’s where the other sketchbook pictures are.
I’ve been working on and off on this book for months. Maybe it’s been a year or more, I’ve lost track. In any case, I have the bulk of it done but can’t help but add and subtract pictures. My husband, desperately trying to learn In-design, cringes every time I want to make a change. I’m so sorry, really I am.
The book is an easy reader, for ages 7 to 9. Most of the time publishers don’t want illustrations for that age or if they do, drawings are simple. Since I haven’t found an agent or publisher, I’m doing this on my own and not paying attention to publishing guidelines (standard me behavior).
Here is the problem. I started with a picture like the one below. At first making a simple magnifying glass, then deciding I could make it a little more interesting. And so it goes…one picture after the other.
What that means is that, if nothing else I’m enjoying the process.
I’m so honored when friends stop in to support me at the art show and say hello. But boy am I uncomfortable selling my art to them. Don’t you give stuff to friends? I love my friends and want to give to them, not take their money. . It’s the way I give gifts, which I don’t otherwise give. I really suck at gift giving. So this is really perfect…isn’t it? They pick out what they like, I give it to them – everyone’s happy!! When I explain that, the thought and sentiment behind it, is brushed off.
Then to top it off I had one young lady fall in love with a painting. When she asked how much I wanted for it she lost it. “That’s too low!” she gasped “It should be at least double what you have marked here!” …and then proceeded to pay the lower price. ( -.- shrugg). oh well.
Okay big lesson – add ten dollars to each tag. ok, $20. but that’s as high as I’ll go!
The top picture and at the bottom of the other pic, is a new little kids book I’m working on. It’s about an Ant and an Elephant. Before it’s even done I’ve gotten some interest. Actually someone wanted to buy that unfinished little sketch book. Wohoo! They also like the one about the seagull that gets kicked out of Bologna cartel. He then gets a kid to help flood the market with bolgna to ruin his former comrades. Once that’s done, he starts a new gang that seeks out and hords peanut butter….something like that.
It’s that time of year again. Inktober. I’ll try to do more as the month goes on but I’ve finally figure out how to illustrate my latest story: The Glass Bottle. It’s a mythology or folklore, something like that. I’m excited about it! Maybe I’ll post a couple of pictures as I finish them.
The perfect word for this weekend. Swampy, maybe that’s because of tRump, but it actually has been. I had to wear my Wellies for the morning walk. Mosquitoes buzzed around my head. I swatted, to no avail, so I let them do their thing and kept on.
When we first got my dog (a rescue) he couldn’t believe I would allow him to go in the puddles. Now he doesn’t even ask anymore if it’s ok (he use to look at me questioning if he could actually get wet and muddy). His hair long is a problem for me when he wants to get back in the house (with ac) but not for him. He likes to plop in the creek too. He doesn’t swim, he just plops and slurps.