Tag: whimsy

lincoln tree & sheep fingers

a reader of my blog asked the very important question of where the fuck did these sheep fingers originate anyway (to paraphrase.)
here.
this watercolor done years ago, titled “lincoln tree & sheep fingers” (& available for the low low price of $85)
why did i arbitrarily give the sheep human fingers for legs? i guess that is a question for my psychotherapist…if i were to have one…. however, to answer why i continue to do them–it’s because the swirlyness helps ease my rabid mind. and the fingers help the cynical & creepy part of me feel okay with the cuteness of sheep.
and i do love sheep.

my most recent inking of sheep fingers
2

doodles

i have written eight art journal pages since last night
eight art journal pages in my new journal
but i have yet to draw me…
i am having a bit of a creep day
(radiohead would understand)
and drawing requires
a more delicate touch
or maybe i will just go with the thick
black
angry
lines
that are bound to happen when
inking while angsty….
however
the drawings will come
as i have decided
one
cannot
do
too many self-portraits.
so stay tuned, my lovelies….

some doodles for those of you who think i’m a one trick pony…haha…i got lots of tricks…i am a tricksey hobbit.

to do list for the week of no minions:
illustrations for another writer’s work
pages of moses jones
self-portrait art journal pages
the invisible exhibitionist
chasing ghosts
maps! maps! maps!

see? very tricksey

9

wishes of fishes

morning coffee
to the screams 
of minions
as the world fogs over
on a cold morning
day
waiting for a plumber
to return my 
calls 
so i can stop
pooping
in the yard 
(i’m not really
pooping
in the yard)
i can tell you this
i finished 
my fish
cards

10

itchy fingers

no pages written
no pictures drawn
looking at other people’s art
& being
down
on
me
wondering
when i will get it right
when i will
win the race
trying to find my way
and feeling like
i’m going in circles
today is a new day
but
in all fairness
so was
yesterday.

just me. fucking around with lines & colors & concept after looking enviously at the art of other artists on instagram.
i looked through five journals today, trying to figure out which of my self-portraits i like the best to do a final draft of. that is a lot of me to look at. and although–yay–i like a great number of my self-portraits, i suppose i am going to have to narrow it down. maybe i will try to get some audience participation 
who wants to pick self-portraits for me?
i also worked to edit my short story, “together, tangled” while sharing my laptop with three minions who think they should all come first. c’mon kid, is daniel tiger more important than my becoming a successful writer? 
i guess that depends.
eventually, i got tired of the editing & pulled out my journal to see what would happen if i put pen to paper.
but even in my goofing off, i am working towards being a better artist, a better writer. 
i feel very grateful that the things i love to do are the things that i love to do. 

4

no man’s land

what if
what if i actually
do own
that ever elusive
confidence
i constantly chase
& dream
of catching
what if
i dismiss 
my confidence
as selfishness
as self-indulgence
as bad
manners
like
one time i walked
into a pitch black room
as i was saying,
“i can’t go in there
i’m afraid of the dark.”
only realizing
once inside
that the story i had been telling
myself
had ended
happily
ever 
after
i was no longer
afraid.
now i have grown
so used to explaining
my lack of confidence
that i have never bothered
to notice
i have grown
some confidence
after all.

“no man is an island,” my mother used to say to me. 
“i’m a peninsula, ma,” i responded.
(have i told you that one already?)
so this happened while some 22 year old was telling me how sexy i was???? weirdo… so i was trying to explain to him my lack of confidence when i started to realize…wait…but…do i have confidence?
i mean, 
i told my abusive ex-husband to fuck the fuck off, choosing to raise four kids by myself in rural illinois. what the fuck does that take if not a big old set of balls?
then i went on to make a list of all the evidence i could think of to prove to myself that i actually do have confidence AND that i have had it all along. like forever. despite the cruel & unsupportive & invalidating natures of my parents & the majority of my relationships. in fact, my survival despite that overwhelming lack of support from my closest relationship proves i have to have had confidence.
so there, self. take that. 
you actually don’t suck.

4

flower ninja evolution

original ninja

i drew this picture sitting at my kitchen table, while still in high school, apparently before i developed my aversion to pencils. there was a vase of dying flowers on the table. and i was a bit into creating whimsical characters (shocking, right?) so this happened.

then, in my late 30s, living in a cooperative, getting ready to go back to school to study art & writing, i did another version of her in ink & art marker, titling it “flower ninja.”

flower ninja yellow

i have her posted on a page…probably the ancient art by me page…where she was admired & then requested only for me to realize i am pretty sure i gave her to dusty who also admired her. god only knows where she is now.
hence the latest version where i went bigger & updated her per my own evolution as an artist.

i think high school me would be delighted that something she drew at the kitchen table would one day evolve into a work that someone would actually pay for.
of course, high school me would also be utterly pissed off to find out that she is not a world-famous author by now.
“and what’s up with the ex-husband collection–why all the jerks?” she might wonder–albeit somewhat relieved that we did manage to get laid….

hmmm. i think maybe it is for the best if we do not tell high school me very much of what we know of current me.
it’ll just be our little secret.

5

crazy broken love

*this is a work in progress

for anyone who wasn’t with me for my whimsical ink stain adventure (all of them are on one of the pages up there) that started with inktober 2016 when i discovered my love for making inkstains and finding pictures in them,
this is what the process looks like.
i make an ink stain, dripping ink randomly on wet watercolor paper.
i let it dry.
then i just stare at it.
for as long as necessary.

it’s therapeutic
and fun
relaxing
and it helps me to expand on my drawing style and discover new creatures.

i haven’t done it in awhile…not since last inktober when i started the month of ink…but then pooped out.
however, i was thinking
just thinking
of writing another letter to seymour
and i started this inkstain as a page on which to write crazy broken poetry about love
for seymour.

i keep asking the universe for a sign that i should either keep up my pilgrimage…or give up on it.
i mean, i guess you could say that seymour’s ignoring of my ongoing expressions of devotion is a sign in itself.
but i would really like something more definite…if that’s not too much to ask.

*i like to post the process of these pictures because it is interesting to me how they develop.

0

when i was a girl

when i was a girl
i started writing books
books about girls on adventures
girls escaping from their evil mothers
(my father–a violent alcoholic
never appeared
in my stories…
i simply erased him.)
when i was a girl
i started taking long walks
walks through fields
& woods
just thinking
& feeling
the world around me
trying to make sense of it
when i was a girl
i would sit & stare
stare at the horizon
imagine breaching
the walls of the valley
surrounding me
escaping
the warm sun on my face
the massive clouds
eluding me
& i would wish i were
braver….

this is the second version of this i did. i don’t usually re-do these; they are quick sketches done in ink with no revisions. that’s me. that’s my technique.

however!
yuck. i did a representative picture of myself as a girl. bleah. it just was awful. i’m not even going to show it to you. in fact i burned it in my kitchen sink, saying a spell for my art to listen to the whispers in my head rather than depending on what my eyes see….

recently someone was nice enough to compare some of my journal pages to the pages of william blake. so i checked out some books from the library so i could see what he manifested. when my first drawing failed, i cracked open one of the books and looked at a few of his drawings. this second one was inspired by what i saw there–and the feelings of my heart rather than the what may or may not have been more true.

this is not what i looked like as a girl. i actually had bangs.
but, you know what? fuck bangs.
so this is what i looked like in my heart.
as i rise up over the mackinaw river valley
escaping into the clouds.

2

healing

i don’t believe in physical ailments
i always suspect
nausea
headaches
pulled muscles
the flu
warts, even
of being disgruntled messages
from my self-conscious

i once had a horrible, terrible, no-good, very bad boyfriend whom i had trouble leaving. i got sick with a cold that lasted over a month.
i once was in a relationship that was not a relationship although i had not been told by the one i thought was my boyfriend, and i started sleepwalking.
with dusty, dear dear dusty, i got plantar warts that live far longer than a plantar wart should live and are actually colonizing my right foot. i have tried every remedy, and every remedy has failed. i will know i have learned my lesson, when those warts go away.

i pulled a muscle in my back almost two weeks ago. i was way too vigorously digging yams. so many yams! like almost a hundred pounds? no joke. if nothing else, we will have enough yams to last us all winter.
however!
i yernked a muscle.
and being me, i ignored it and went on with my life. building a small hoop house, pushing a dead tractor, wrestling goats, lifting small children, balancing my whole world in one hand while doing everything else with the other hand.
several days later, i was in excruciating pain.
my back was all, “i am outta here.”

so who do i call for help? three guesses…fuck. i call dusty. and as soon as he gets here i know what a mistake i have made.
so now i am irritated. frustrated. bitter.

and my back still hurts like fuck.

what is the lesson here?
(please, seriously, besides actually doing yoga and taking better care of myself…what? does that include my self-self? not just my physical self? i’m supposed to take care of my whole for real-real self? that’s it, isn’t it? well, crap….)

i look for messages everywhere…because they are there.

0

inktober 10th & 11th…ish

there’s a story behind this. but i don’t know what it is.

that was the 11th. for the 10th i phoned it in once more with a half done inking.

inktober10

and it is still not finished.
my life is overwhelming.
i am very angry about being alone. about doing this alone. so angry. and depressed. and feeling like this is it. this is the rest of my life. i am essentially alone–but! i am also stuck with dusty in my life. i am stuck with raising four kids mostly by myself while their dad complains that he wants to be more involved and i have to remind myself that it is a trick. their dad is an angler fish dangling “normal family” in front of me and hoping i will take a nibble. because he never actually gets involved even when he can be involved. he doesn’t. and i have to keep reminding myself of that.
which is a lot of fun.

fuck.

so i’m grumpy and moody and do not feel like doing anything even though i know that doing something would help me to feel better.

just putting pen to paper makes me feel better.

0

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