After the success of last year's Halloween post, I felt the need to do something even crazier. As I was sifting through ideas on the internet last week, I came across a lot of Roy Lichtenstein-inspired makeup jobs. Those looked like they would be a lot of fun and easy for me to pull off, but Jeff urged me to try something nobody had seen before. If I remember correctly, I think he tossed out the name Picasso, and suddenly I was all about it.
A quick "Halloween Picasso" image search yielded a few results, but nobody had tried to recreate one of his portraits that incorporate multiple views (frontal, profile) of the same face. I found one that I thought Jeff and I could pull off: his Head of a Woman from 1960.
This is a portrait of his wife Jacqueline. She's not my favorite Picasso muse--that would be Francoise Gilot, no question--but her prominent dark eyes were similar to ours, and the rest of the painting looked simple enough.
I measured our faces and painted Jacqueline's hair, body, and background on a piece of foamcore. Then I cut out the area where our faces would go. Easy part: done.
This afternoon was the moment of truth: could we pull this off? I painted half of my face using this face paint. It required two coats, but I wish the white could have been even whiter. To really make it look like the Picasso, I needed to alter our eyes a great deal. Our eyebrows became the top lines of lashes, and I painted the irises on our closed eyelids. Finally I added eyebrows to our foreheads. It was so freaky! Jeff was a good sport during this process--he had just shaved and said the face paint was a little itchy.
While I was painting myself, Jeff set up lights in our living room and secured his camera at eye level to a ladder. We practiced putting our faces together inside the cut-out, and then we did a few trial runs filming this. It was harder to do than you might think, and the lighting never seemed bright enough. This was our best take (not sure why it looped it twice; sorry, I'm not a YouTube pro like some people):
We wanted to reverse the video so it played backwards but couldn't figure out how to do that. Plus we were getting hungry.
So once again (if you haven't seen Bun's costume, you should), Happy Halloween everybody!
For months I've been thinking about dressing Bun up as Bunderwoman for Halloween, and today it all came together. It was as simple as finding a costume for Bun (a bib for newborns that you can buy here). It fastened in the back with velcro.
Today we took it to the next level, though: we thought it would be great if Bun could somehow be flying her invisible jet. I drew a stubby, more Bunlike version of this on a couple of pieces of large craft paper.
Jeff held Bun aloft as I snapped as many photos as I could. She was grumpy about the bib, so the photo session lasted no longer than 30 seconds, during which time I managed to take these pictures.
Not lovin' it.
How come the other kitties don't have to be Bunderwoman?
Plotting vengeance, ala Mike. FULL MEASURES;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;
EXTRA BEST HAPPY HALLOWEENIES EVERYBODIES;;;;;;;;;;
Jeff and I have been watching the coverage of Hurricane Sandy's devastation from the safety of our home in Illinois. It's so hard to wrap our minds around the images we've seen, especially when we were there just four weeks ago. To all of our friends in the northeast: you're in our thoughts, and we hope things return to normal for you soon. And we love New York very much.
So...I'm going to continue writing about our time there with Mel. The first part is here in case you missed it, but this is the condensed version: we arrived on a Sunday morning and walked all over the place the entire day, visting the Frick and Central Park and gorging on sweets and pizza along the way.
Jeff's credit card point accumulatin' fu allowed us to spend the rest of our time at the Grand Hyatt New York. It's next to the Grand Central Terminal and boasts a sprawling, impressive lobby starring two enormous, slightly elongated white heads that we thought were alternately freaky and soothing. We left our luggage in our new room and set off on foot to meet my friend David at a little deli near the Apple store and Bergdorf Goodman.
David works as a makeup artist for Estee Lauder at Bergdorf Goodman, and he is a fan of Beauty Broadcast, my sister's YouTube channel. He Internet-met me through that, and last year he was kind enough to send Poof, Mom and me custom-engraved lipsticks from Estee Lauder. We've become Facebook friends as well and have amazed each other with arcane pop cultural references and various wisecracks. I was excited to meet him in person.
If you've never met an Internet friend in real life, you're missing out because it is an experience unlike any other. You understand the way your friend's mind works, but you've never seen them move around in space as a three-dimensional being. So as you marvel at your friend's actual person-ness, you're able to jump right in wherever it was you left off when the two of you were online.
And this was the case with David. He was smart, sweet, down-to-earth, and a million laughs. Jeff, Mel, and I immediately recognized him as a member of Our Tribe, and an instant lovefest commenced between the four of us. David is originally from central Illinois, so we have that in common, too. He was just the best. I mean, look at me grinning like an idiot up there. I know this sounds cheesy, but when he gave us goodbye hugs, it felt like he represented the entire city, and we parted ways filled with goodwill for the people of New York.
(PS David weathered the storm by watching a marathon of scary movies in his Brooklyn home. He's just fine.)
Up next: an obligatory trip to the top of the Empire State Building. We stood in line (or do you prefer on line? because I don't) for about an hour. The line wound through one room after another, and as soon as we worked our way through one, we'd get our hopes up that it was finally elevator time, only to face another room filled with more line.
The noon-time view from the 86th floor was tremendous and worth the wait, of course, and we took it in from all four sides. Stunning and worth the wait!
We also took the photo that's at the top of this post--please note that my hair is threatening to take over my entire head. It's been about six months since I've had it cut, and while we were on the trip I gave up on trying to tame it. The wind (and later, the humidity) caused me to tweet and Facebook the following:
(David responded: "I think of this moment EVERY TIME it rains in New York!!! We share the same thoughts!")
The observation deck was a mob scene, and Mel began experiencing some mild agoraphobia. We headed back down in search of sustenance. Jeff had planned to take us to Ippudo for the best ramen in town. This involved a mile-long walk (I'm guessing) south (also kind of guessing; I have no sense of direction). Along the way Mel and I spotted the Big Gay Ice Cream Truck and begged for an ice cream pit stop. Jeff, who hadn't seen the truck, agreed in a hurry.
From what I could tell, the BGICT sells normal ice cream novelties (I guess--no ice cream trucks come to our town) along with some exclusive ideas such as Mel's waffle cone that I'm holding for her. They coated the cone's interior with Nutella.
Jeff and I shared a Salty Pimp, which is vanilla soft serve drizzled with dulce de leche, sprinkled with sea salt, and dipped in chocolate. Look at it stalking Melissa! A while later, we saw a photo online of Anthony Bourdain devouring a Salty Pimp, too.
We weren't eating as much as we were feeding. And then off we went in search of more food.
Ippudo! It took us a while to find its hidden entrance, but once we were inside, we were treated to a very special meal in a rowdy but cool atmosphere.
I liked the ramen-under-glass counter near the front of the store. The cooks yelled whenever new customers entered, and small parties were seated together at a communal table. Jeff, Mel, and I somehow scored a posh booth.
Mel was wearing the cutest ensemble that day: vintage Batman shirt tucked into a yellow pencil skirt, knee high socks, Doc Martens. I wore my usual dress and big necklace, and Jeff had on his classic black shirt/black jeans combo.
We shared an appetizer of pork rolls (right) and a two kinds of ramen (one is on the left). The ramen was perfectly cooked and topped with tender pork and an egg. The rolls were phenomenal and stole the show in my opinion, with spicy pork and, if I remember correctly, some cabbage. The roll itself was so light, soft, and squishy that it didn't even seem like food. Mel and I talked about its texture for days to come. What was going on with it? How was it made? We don't know.
After lunch we walked around the Village and saw a mural of pets that made me miss Bun, who was being cared for by her grandparents (thanks Mom and Dad!). Jeff wanted to visit another place that specialized in Belgian fries--that's all they make--but ONCE AGAIN they were not up to Jeff's par. We didn't even finish them. Repeat: we did not eat something that was fried.
Jeff, care to explain?
Belgian fries (frites) are a completely different experience than
American fries. If you travel in Belgium, you'll find them in upscale
restaurants and on the street, often arriving in a paper cone and
accompanied with homemade mayonnaise.
If you want to know how to make Belgian fries, this is the best resource that I know. It's tricky and to do it right, you need to use the proper potato and fry in a mixture of duck fat and oil.
But when done right, GAH! They're fried twice (and sometimes
thrice;-))--first in lower heat to cook the inside, then in higher heat
to crisp the outside, and this creates a fry that is almost completely
creamy, not crumbly, on the inside, protected by a salty crust.
Heavenly. Game-changing. Haunting.
I've found quite a few places in the U.S. that serve Belgian fries,
but with one exception, I've never had a fry that came close to a true
Belgian fry. But that exception was on this trip.
But that exception was not this place, Pommes Frites.
I'd been to Pommes Frites before and enjoyed the fries, though they
weren't quite the fry I sought. However this time, while ordering, I
overheard that it had changed owners. The first bite
confirmed it was not for the best. The fries were burnt and bland. Do not recommend.
Afternoon shadows were closing in on us, so we took a subway down to the financial district. Jeff wanted to see the gorgeous new Gehry building and the One World Trade Center under construction, and he took the photos above, which I thought were beautiful. I love the way he composes his shots.
As we entered Battery Park, we saw a sculpture that had formerly been installed near the Twin Towers and was damaged during 9/11. Its theme was world peace, and it was so touching to see that it had survived that awful day. The piece was more poignant and meaningful due to the ordeal it had endured.
We sat on benches and looked out at the Statue of Liberty for a while--such a lovely day--before we headed back to our hotel via the subway.
Grand Central Terminal is huge, with a large open area that reminded me of Chicago's Union Station. The vaulted ceiling is blue with gold constellations.
In an attempt to broaden our horizons, we ate at a German pub called Bierhaus. Oktoberfest had just begun, and the place was crowded and very loud. Monday Night Football was on the various televisions, polka music played, and we could barely hear ourselves speak. Melissa is used to this kind of party/bar atmosphere, but Jeff and I aren't. At least I'm not anymore--minus the beer, it reminded me of a junior high school cafeteria. PTSD, ahoy!
Jeff and Mel ordered some special-seeming beers and I had a sparkling apple cider. We shared a platter of meats and some German potato salad. The food was just so-so and appeared to be nothing more than some rolled up cold cuts (I have a love-hate relationship with that term) and a warm hot dog. This was the most disappointing meal of the trip, but we still had a good time.
We stopped by Baked by Melissa (how could we not?) on the way back to the hotel and each of us had a microcupcake. They were delicious one-biters, and mine was so good it made me mad that it was so tiny. We took a pit stop at our cool-looking room before heading to the Hyatt's 16th floor.
Jeff had jumped through some kind of hoop that allowed us access to a special lounge where nonstop snacks and beverages were available. We had it all to ourselves and, exhausted, we lounged on the outdoor furniture and admired New York at night. I took a photo of a shimmery Chrysler Building reflected on another building. I felt so fortunate to be able to spend time with Jeff and Mel in such a beautiful city.
Jeff and I took Melissa (his daughter) to New York a few weeks ago. This was Mel's first visit, but Jeff and I had been there multiple times. Mel had been putting in untold hours cooking at a restaurant in downtown Champaign--one of those deals where people keep quitting but no one gets hired to replace them, so the remaining crew has to work nightmare shifts for weeks on end. Mel was seriously exhausted, but you can't tell it in the photo above because (a) she is beautiful at all times, and (b) she was positively joyous at the prospect of escaping her restaurant captors for almost a whole week.
We took a late Saturday afternoon drive up to Chicago to our hotel near Midway. Our flight was at 6:00 the next morning. The sun set on an congregation of windmills--they really are a sight to behold in such a flat landscape--and a full moon rose in the east.
Near our hotel was a Five Guys. Mel had never tried one of their burgers and was duly impressed (just look at that cheese oozage). We were all starving, so that made the food even better. Back at the hotel, Mel and I laughed at the lobby's truly awful Helpful Waiter sculpture, whose bulbous ass greeted all parking lot visitors. We slept for a few hours before our phone alarms sounded at 3:15. We were out the door by 4:00, shuttled to the airport by 4:30, and hustled through security at 5:00.
We decided to get some breakfast before finding our gate. Our only food options at that hour were Gold Coast Dogs and something called Pegasus, where Mel had a breakfast sandwich that she does not recommend. But as for the hot dogs, I will never not want one of them. Breakfast of champions. We flew on Southwest for the first time (loved it) and watched the sun rise extra quickly as we headed east. We were in NYC by 9:00 and had a full Sunday itinerary ahead of us.
Happily, we were able to check in early at our hotel (the Westin on 42nd Street). Jeff and I are crazy about their yummy beds. I also happen to like the way all Westin lobbies smell great. And outside our window: the beautiful Chrysler Building!
Jeff, who managed to pay for our hotel and flights with points, wanted to introduce Mel to New York via walks to various landmarks and restaurants. We only hit a couple of museums on this trip. I thought this was wise because the first time I went to NYC it was one nonstop museum slog, something like six in two days, and while I loved them all, I came home with only a cursory feel for the city itself.
That morning Mel took photos of Grand Central Terminal, the New York Public Library, St. Patrick's Cathedral (very much under construction), and Rockefeller Center, among others. She was wowed by the windows at THE Sax Fifth Avenue and Louis Vuitton.
The Louis Vuitton windows featured an eye-popping installation by dot-obsessed Japanese artist Yaioi Kusama.
The weather couldn't have been more beautiful--this was the first time I'd been there in the fall. Perfect jacket weather! Mel and Jeff took the bulk of the photos you'll see in these New York posts. "If I have to write about this, you guys have to take the pictures," I told them. If you're a fan of the show, it's impossible not to hum the 30 Rock theme song while standing in front of it.
That Sunday morning's walk made me particularly happy because every half hour or so we ate something sweet. Near 30 Rock: the Bouchon Bakery, home of the incredible macarons I enjoyed with Poof when we were in New York last year.
I swear I have not stopped thinking about those macarons, and I will be so bold as to say that they were better than any I had in Paris. I tried a summer berry macaron (the big purplish one in the middle), the same flavor I'd lost my mind over last year, and it was just as amazing as I'd remembered. I gave Jeff and Mel little--little!! mine!! grr!!--bites and we shared a very good baguette while doing some people-watching.
One advantage of having a third person with us: for the first time ever, we now have vacation photos of the two of us together, and they're not the usual self-portraits-holding-camera-at-arm's-length, either. Thank you, Mel, and I apologize in advance for any unappetizing mushiness you readers may see. Above: Jeff is telling me about the good old days of vaudeville, probably.
Ack!! The mushiness! Make it stop!
Next up: Momofuku's Milk Bar, home of the Crack Pie, the Compost Cookie, and the cereal milk milkshake. This place has a cookbook I've had on my Amazon wish list for over a year, but no one will buy it for me, and that's probably for the best.
There's something disturbing--and I have to think it's intentionally disturbing--about this place. We got a subversive, druggy vibe from it. It's the kind of bakery Lou Reed and Andy Warhol would come up with.
SONG TIME
The treats came prepackaged in a way that reminded me of the McDonald's fried cherry pies of yesteryear. There was no seating at the Milk Bar, so we sat on a window ledge and tore into our treats like a bunch of junkies. Pictured: the cereal milk milkshake, which tasted exactly like cereal milk because that's what it's made of. Jeff's holding the candy bar pie, and I've got the crack pie. Not pictured: the compost cookie, which we saved for later. The crack pie is like a pecan pie without the pecans, and it has an oatmeal cookie crust. Very sweet and delicious. If that was the crack pie, the candy bar pie ought to be called the meth pie. It has a chocolate cookie crust, housemade nougat, a thick, gooey layer of toffee, and a pretzel smothered in chocolate ganache. We talked about it for days. Somebody had better get me that cookbook; that's all I'm saying.
Shiny building, historic building, building from some movie...hey, how about some pizza?
Jeff led us to Angelo's Coal Oven Pizzeria, where we shared a small margherita pizza. I was swooning over the sauce. Gah, I want some so badly right now! Why do I have to go all the way to New York for this, why? I can't write about this pizza. It was perfect in every way and it's making me sad.
After lunch we explored Central Park. Jeff and Mel gamboled up an impressive rock overlooking a pond while I rested my feet. Conservative estimate: we walked at least 40,000 steps that day, no joke, and my boots were feeling gravity's pull. Did you enjoy my use of the word gamboled up there, by the way? Because here's exactly what I thought when they scampered up that rock: Look at those two, gamboling like a couple of goats. Then they strutted back down like Richard Pryor in Stir Crazy.
At some point Jeff checked his phone to see how much the Frick (one of my favorites: a mansion turned into an all-killer-no-filler art museum) cost, and he learned that, amazingly, the Frick was free on Sundays from 11:00 to 1:00. It was 12:45. We RAN to the Frick as Mel and I shrieked, "Frick! What the Frick!" etc. We got in by the skin of our teeth and saved 54 dollars. Was it crowded? You bet.
But we still managed to enjoy such hard-hitters as Holbein's Sir Thomas More, Bellini's St. Francis in Ecstasy, a late Rembrandt self-portrait, and many more, but not too many more. This is a nice, bite-sized museum that won't monopolize your entire afternoon.
It was raining when we left, but it was only a passing shower. We took shelter under an arbor in Central Park and ate the compost cookie, which was a "kitchen sink" kind of thing that included potato chips. Unfortunately, the chips didn't have as much of a presence as I thought they might, so that was a little anticlimactic.
We explored the park some more. If you click on this photo and look closely, you'll notice a cluster of frat boys in Speedos beneath the green banner on the right. In what must have been a hazing ritual, they came up to people and sang a capella choruses of pop songs at passersby. "You don't know-oh-oh! You don't know you're beautiful!" and so on. We got out of there...
...but not before I got a shot of Melissa at Strawberry Fields. This photo was taken during the nanosecond that Baby Boomers were not swarming around it.
More walking, more buildings, more photos, and eventually we approached Columbus Circle. Jeff had a lead on a Belgian waffle food truck. I've mentioned this before, but four years ago Jeff went to Belgium on business, and while he was there he had the best frites of his life and street-food waffles topped with Nutella, ice cream, and so on. He can't get over those, either. And I like waffles as much as the next guy, but I never understood what the big deal was...until we hit that food truck and it showed me what's what.
Unbelievable. That thing you see above is a liege waffle, which means it has a thin crust of caramelized sugar. These are tricky to make, apparently, but so special. Warm, gooey, slightly crunchy, complex--an absolute winner. I saw the shot on the right as I was sifting through these photos the other day, and it knocked the wind out of me.
But wait, there's more! We shared a single serving-sized cup of gelato at Grom (which Jeff and I had enjoyed in Florence and Paris). I demonstrated the unique stretchiness of gelato for Mel. Achingly good. The fact that we had shared everything that day made us a lot less bloated than we would have been otherwise, I'm telling you.
We walked down Broadway as late afternoon approached--remember, we had been up since 3:00--and prepared to hit our final food stop of the day, Don Antonio, whose claim to fame is a pizza with a crust that is deep fried before it is topped and baked in a smoky wood oven. We ordered one of those along with a fresh mozzarella and prosciutto appetizer. Mel very sweetly said that dinner was on her. How fabulous of her!
The pizza's crust was indeed incredible, with a crunchy-chewy texture, but I've never had a smokier pizza, except maybe that time when Dad put a frozen pizza on the grill to see what it would do. This felt like I was eating bacon, not pizza, and bacon is terrific but I wanted pizza more. So this place took a back seat to Angelo's from earlier in the day, but needless to say, we ate the hell out of that pizza anyway.
After supper we waddled back toward our hotel, and the Empire State Building came into view for the first time. Jeff created the above self-portrait in an homage to the final episode of this season's Louie, where SPOILER ALERT he flips off the Ed Sullivan theater and yells "F--- you, David Letterman!" I have loved Dave for thirty years, so I do not approve of this photo at all, but that was one stellar Louie episode, and I'm sure Dave got a kick out of it, too. Finally, we passed Grand Central Terminal en route to our yummy, yummy beds.
Heh, I told myself that I was going to keep this short, as several weeks have passed since our trip. Fail! The rest of these will be shorter. Probably. I hope.
Those motherscratchers better fall ass-over-tea-kettle in love with this damn autumn spice rustic-cut fruit salad. -- Melinda, in one of her reliably fantastic status updates on Facebook.
Liked.
My comment: Melinda,
if you would send me the recipe, I'd make it, blog it, and title the
entry Melinda's Damn Autumn Spice Rustic-Cut Fruit Salad. I could also tack on For Motherscratchers if you so desire.
Moments later she messaged me with the recipe, and a short, foulmouthed volley began. Note: PG-13 language ahead, yay!
Melinda: This recipe was created by "MISTRESSFATE", but I made it my own by not
just toasting the slivered almonds, but toasting those bitches to
perfection. I would also recommend upping the goddamn banana content.
All right, so I think this salad is good. It's good enough for those motherscratchers, anyway. I happily ate a big bowl of it for supper. But Jeff took a couple of bites and he was--I hate to say this, Mels--disgusted. He put his sample-sized bowl down, did a little turn so I couldn't see his expression, and drank Coke to rinse out his mouth. I pressured him into admitting what he thought it tasted like, but as I began writing this he asked me not to include his description in my post. It was gross, though, and it made zero sense to me. But you'll dig this, Melinda: his main complaint was the bananas. Direct quote: "I don't like bananas in wet things."
Now, we're talking about a man who can't eat raw tomatoes because their texture reminds him of "what it would feel like to eat a baby's heart." He is blasé about muffins. He will actively seek out a food truck in Florence, Italy that specializes in revolting sandwiches made from a cow's fourth and final stomach. Grain of salt, people!
"MISTRESSFATE"'s recipe made ten servings, so I'm glad I cut it in half because I'm the only one here who likes this. Commenters on the recipe said it doesn't keep well either, so I've got some heavy duty fruit-eatin' ahead of me.
Still with me? Feel like terrifying your wet-banana-fearing husband? My halved and slightly tweaked version of this recipe follows.
INGREDIENTS
1 red delicious (or other red) apple
1 Granny Smith apple
2 bananas
1 pear
1 cup red or green grapes
1 cup vanilla yogurt
1/2 tablespoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ginger
1/2 teaspoon allspice
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
single serving packet of apple cider mix
1/4 cup almonds, slivered and toasted <--I just chopped some pre-roasted almonds. Nuts are getting so expensive, wouldn't you agree?
Cut apples and pears into rough chunks. Slice the bananas, and cut grapes in half. Combine the fruits in a salad bowl.
Mix yogurt with spices and cider, and pour over fruits. Mix until salad is evenly coated, and top with almonds.
For those of you who might appreciate a little pre-click information, here's the short story: I'll get $1,000 if I win this 10-day contest. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! It would kind of make up for the dude who flaked out on buying one of my paintings last week, which I mentioned in the sad-sack final paragraphs of my latest post.
Here's the long story: the curators at Imagekind (the company that produces my prints) liked Glass Gems 3 enough to select it for a contest, and I'm up against 99 other artists. Imagekind has launched a website called SocialGoods where the very act of visiting and browsing art
will direct ad revenue to non-profits. A portion of Imagekind's
earnings from any art sold will be directed to those non-profits, too. Revenue from the contest I'm in will go to Kosair, a children's charity.
Basically, they want as many eyes as they can get on SocialGoods by using the artists' social networking skills. I'm excited to be part of it! I have a fabulous group of people who read this blog, like my Facebook art page, and follow me on Twitter. It's just a couple of clicks, I swear, and if you spread the word to your friends, well, my heart would explode with pure joy.
And now, some news. Most importantly, my pal Mabel has a brand new baby sister named Lucinda! Congratulations to Melinda and Kate. Lucy looks so much like Mabel. They are officially the coolest family in America. The photos I've seen on Facebook this week are bone-crushingly adorable.
Secondly, I broke down and put links to ALL of my recipes on Pinterest (except for a couple of duds), so now you can see them all in one place. It's about time I did this! Recipes are here.
I'm in the process of framing Ruby Liberty Dragonfly. The gold-coppery frame came in four pieces--assembly very much required, plus wood glue was involved, arrgh--and Jeff and I put it together in our guest bedroom slash cardboard box storage area. It is the one cat hair-free zone in the house. Sorry the photo is so lousy; the light in there ranges from blinding to jet black with nothing in between.
And now, some breaking Bun news.
Can you find her up there? I continue to take Bun out on supervised walkabouts, even though it's getting colder and the sun disappears behind the house before 3:30 now. Lately Bun's been curious about the koi pond, including the blue ceramic filter.
The other day she boldly hopped on top of it and stood there, her head on a swivel, for about 30 seconds.
And then she decided she had better things to do.
Such as mole hunting!
On Friday she noticed something scurrying in the variety pack of plants growing near our deck. Jeff and I watched in awe as she did a straight-leg pounce, kind of like this fox is doing.
Except Bun didn't slip or flop around. We heard a squeak, followed by a rustle, and Bun pounced a second time. We were worried that she might be after a chipmunk, but it seemed smaller, like a mouse. It hid under our walkway, but Bun was able to poke it a couple of times before pulling its limp body out. "It's a mole," Jeff said as Bun, mole-in-mouth, strutted to the patio. She tossed the mole in the air and pounced on it a few more times before becoming disenchanted. Jeff performed coroner duties.
It all happened so quickly! Later on a smug Bun took a sweet little nap next to me on the couch.
Ladies and gentlemen, behold the mighty predator that saved her house and family from a vicious mole invasion!
Bun was an inside-outside cat during the first year of her life, and she was quite a hunter. I remember rescuing a robin from her clutches (the head was in her mouth, and its wings were flopping against her face). She also managed to somehow bring down a bat and terrorize a cicada. All of these creatures were presented to me as gifts. After I moved to Urbana, she had to become an exclusively-inside cat, and while many small animals cheered this development, I hated to restrict Bun when she clearly loved simply being a cat.
Brand new and extra-sparkly, here is my latest watercolor. It's the reason why you haven't been seeing painting posts from me over the past couple of months. This is a handful of my favorite jewelry on a piece of crumpled foil. It's loaded with sentimental value and...work. So much work!
Let's take a walk through it. But wait--don't have time to read? Please buy a print of it here! That's right, I'm putting a print link at the top this time. I really want you to have one.
Mom
would recognize this--it's part of her Italian mosaic necklace that
she let me wear when I was in second grade and most of my life. She
officially gave it to me as a wedding present. When I was a kid, I used to study it when I was bored and wonder
about the person who put those tiny pieces together.
The entire jumble of jewelry was around five inches across, but after I drew it on my watercolor paper, this mosaic alone was bigger than my face. It was also the first thing I painted after completing this monster commission, and I was giddy to be painting something new.
I
added more items over the next few days. I bought the blue Murano
glass earring from a street vendor in Rome eleven years ago. I think I
paid about $12 for the set, and I wear them a lot. Next to it is a
brooch I bought for Mom while I was in Venice. She let me borrow it a
few years ago and I really should give it back to her. Its floral mosaic
design is similar to the antique pendant I painted first. About half of
the things in this painting are Italian in origin. The rest
are antiques, cheap stuff from Etsy and Claire's, and a Navajo bracelet.
All
of these pieces of jewelry are in the background of the painting, so to
give it some depth I attempted to soften every edge. Things get
especially blurry on the right side. Later on I surrounded the three floating blue blobs with golden, pearl-like balls similar to the ones you see
around the more finished-looking blue blob.
The
orange/pink/gold object on the left is a glass earring that reminds me
of a disco ball. I loved the dark metal thing attached to it. My parents
gave those to me for Christmas last year. They're a bit too heavy
for my ears, so I don't wear them as much as I'd like (I don't want to
become one of those women with deflated, stretched-out ear lobes.)
Painting this earring took two days. I listened to Jimi Hendrix as I finished it, specifically his 15-minute version of Voodoo Chile over and over, and when I put my paintbrush down, I truly felt like a voodoo chile.
The
ruby ring is an antique of unknown origin (I think it may have belonged
to my great-grandmother). Most of the triangular prongs that hold the
ruby in place have snapped off, so I had to invent them, but I kept the
one at 3 o'clock the way it was--gone. It's too small for any of my
fingers now except for my pinkies, but it's not really a pinkie kind of
ring. I used to wear it on my right ring finger about 25 years ago and
felt like Elizabeth Taylor because it is one big honking ruby. I'd love
to have it reset and wear it again.
I
added a gold wedding band that somehow found its way into my jewelry
box, and to the right is part of a bracelet made with silver dollars and
turquoise (most of it is obscured).
The
ring is old, thin and scratched, and I wear it on my right hand a lot. I
needed something to hold the now-finished ruby ring in place, and I had fun painting the colorful reflections. It felt bizarre to add so much
red and purple to a gold ring, but I think it works.
This
is a close-up of the silver dollar. The bracelet is Navajo. Sometimes
they use coins in their jewelry, and the coins on this one were formed
into dome shapes. The coin contains some of my trickiest wet-into-wet work, as I attempted to reflect the light and the other jewelry in a soft, blurry way.
Here's the dragonfly before I completed work on the wings. I
bought this necklace at Macy's about 7 years ago during some
post-breakup retail therapy. The dragonfly is silver in real life, but
the warm light I had shining on it made it appear more golden, and it
also warmed up the pearly-green wings on the right side.
And
the crazy jewelry just keeps on comin'. Occupying the lower-left
quadrant: a necklace Jeff bought for me when we were in Murano, an
island near Venice. The artisans of Murano specialize in art glass, and
this necklace features grape-sized metallic gold and blue beads. They
reminded me of tiny globes, and since Jeff and I love to travel, I
thought they were perfect and I really really wanted them. Jeff was
sweet enough to indulge me. The necklace became a sort of nest for the
rest of the jewelry.
After reaching a certain point in a painting, I can get kind of tired of taking daily photos of it. It's frustrating to remind myself that, yes, I've come a long way, but no, it won't be finished anytime soon. And so I tackle a new, small chunk each day, put the painting away, and do it again the next day without getting too precious about it. I just do the work.
This approach helped me complete the second disco ball-like earring above the dragonfly's wing, a
rhinestone stud earring near the lower right, shadowy beads in the center, and a snowflake pendant on
the right side. (I am crazy about the colors in that snowflake.) You can also see the silver dollar bracelet's wrist bands
above that.
I finished it yesterday afternoon. I've had a lousy week otherwise--an excrutiating meeting with an elderly artist who just assumed I was Jeff's trophy wife, a medical test that will most likely result in me having to take more medical tests, and a buyer who decided he didn't want to pay for this painting after all (anybody want it?). And now I have this new painting that I think is beautiful, but as Elvis Costello said in a song I think about a lot when I'm down, What shall we do with all this useless beauty?
Also please give me a "like" on my Facebook art page. I update that with in-progress photos as I work on new projects, in case you'd like to watch those develop in real-time. Sorry for the begging, and thanks again.
