Blog

There are thirty-nine pincushions. When I first started in 2016, it was fun to make them. Try to capture their essence and what made them so despicable. Stick pins in them. Then stuff them tightly in a plastic bag with little to no air for them.

Back then it was their new leader, Trump, Mitch McConnell, Kelly Anne with her “alternate facts”, and Bill Barr shoving their words toward a possible legal truth. Combine it all with the endless lies of Fox “News” to an angry, bigoted population, and it festered to the surface for a second chance to expose our weaknesses.

All of them have a red dot…the mark of “being sold”. And sold is what each of them have been. Sold souls to the highest and most corrupt bidders.

Even Stephen Miller with his fascist tendencies could resurrect himself in this new administration to direct an expulsion of necessary population willing to carry the heavy load for all of us. More and more sycophants pushed their way into view to be willing to pick up the fight for fellow bigots. They came armed and ready.

They fight for the positions of most obnoxious, most “Christian”, most willing to tell lies, most willing to be bought, etc.

 

Each and everyone of them are headed to the garbage of American history…and so well-deserved for ruining what our country used to be.

So many wanted to see the justice system come to the rescue. But that seems beyond their ability with the stacked and paid for courts we find ourselves stuck with for the foreseeable future. Long after I have left this world.

Before he goes, he will hang his red tie medals around the necks of most deserving of pincushion personas, but frankly, my stomach can take no more.

I am not sure if where we are is what the MAGAs of our time wanted us to be. But here we are. There are over three more years left to take this country further down and then it will be more of their uncontrolled anger continuing or a very slow healing process. Some other country will have to take over for the leadership we so willingly gave up. Obviously we are incapable.

But the sun will still come up.

I will pour myself a nice stiff drink for my solo exhibition later today and wish I lived in better times or a better country.

Til later….but first a poem of comfort….

 

The Shirt        S. Webster

 

It hangs there, just waiting

for me to reach out, and remember

the times it held me close.

When no one else was giving

needed comfort

and wanted touch.

I pause long enough

to run my hand down the arm

and hold its hand,

before moving on to one that

has no history.

 

A very large rally last weekend. I saw no trumpers driving around being their usual ornery selves.  My job is to drive through with flag-waving supporters in the car giving the thumbs up to those waving their signs along the route.

Speaking of which, here is an idea I had for those looking to design a local billboard.

The “next time vote” part came from a discussion with Aussies over wine six years ago. They were completely surprised that so few Americans vote and that those that do would pull a trump lever. There country will fine those who do not vote and increase the fine if it happens again.  Here, Republicans are trying very hard to eliminate voting altogether so their despicable dear leader can stay in power. Now with trump into his second term and hell bent on ruining world orders and decency, the Aussies are convinced we are headed into irredeemable times. I don’t disagree with that assessment.

In my studio I am working on the last of the smarmy pincushions of this administration. I hate even having to touch them. But all will be part of another solo exhibition in the garage.

So far there are thirty-six. I had to order more pins.

Someone should come up with a game of “Pin the Swastika on ______”.  And it bears repeating that if I worked in a restaurant and had to bring food to Stephen Miller, I would spit in it first.

Anyway, in the exhibition there will be many red ties that can be handed out like “Medals of Freedom” to the creepy ones on his cabinet that are not noteworthy enough to merit pins. But there will be a list of contenders. It will be a pleasure to write a paragraph for each pincushion in the exhibition. So many have faded into the unknown. But Sean Spicer needs to be identified as the first press secretary parroting his dear leader on inauguration crowd sizes who went on to cha cha on Dancing with the Stars. And the nation actually thought that was our low point.

So out to dinner with another Manhattan before salmon over kale Caesar salad. I think I will make them myself here at home from now on….very “thin”.

Dilly keeps an eye on me while Sadie purrs with such intensity when I hold her that my Afib seems to calm itself to a single syncopated heartbeat.

Okay. Enough. I am finishing my G&T before heading to bed with another British crime series. Speaking of British series, I watched the first of the new season of Great British Baking Show. It really is unnecessarily stupid and so much less informative than it used to be. Too dumb to bother watching another episode.

Til later….

It has been several days between blogs. Still not doing much in the way of artwork…but some writing. While looking through the “Artwork” folder last week I found these small water colored boats. I called them Air boats. Probably thought they could be used in a story of some kind…maybe a children’s book. They were never used, so I resized some to post here. The first one seems appropriate for where I am now…stuck!

I made them from bits and pieces around the studio several years ago. These images are slightly larger than the actual watercolors. Funny how many times I have drawn, painted, and built boats. I do not like water, so the boat has always represented safety…a place that offered protection. Anyway, here they are with the uglier ones left behind.

It is time for another political work to be installed in the garage. I am thinking all those pin cushions from the Trump sycophant line up being marched and falling into a garbage bag. The problem is, no dumping would be complete without the horrible Kristi Gnome, Marco Stupido, and, of course, the so much despised, Karoline B’Leav-it. So this week I will pull out what is left of the felt and get to work. The RFK Jr. pincushion has a bloody bear’s head to hang on to, so Kristi needs a dog fighting back. Karoline needs loads of crosses and be standing on a stack of Trump bibles. Marco just needs that blank, vacant drowsy stare of someone without a soul.  J D Vance? Crotch-hugging short pants and a passport to somewhere else. Not sure I will ever see them all go on trial, but I can hope.

So busy week ahead I guess.

I went out to dinner with a friend last night and with a lack of bar snacks, we ordered one of their pretzels. I came hanging off a banana rack…most of it went uneaten.

I have been fixing myself one good cocktail each afternoon before dinner. Here is my Negroni from two nights ago.

So now I will get back to writing. I need to go over my note-taking done at the bar the last couple of weeks to see if there is something worth digging into further. But first I need to finish a poem and short story I am working on. Later this fall I should have another book available through Amazon.

Til later…..

I opened a folder marked “Artwork”. It was back before I put in separate folders that claimed the contents were certain kinds of artwork, like books, sculpture, etc.

And I thought it would be fun to pull certain pieces up for moving over here and talking about them.  Once moved over here, I walked off the rest of my 8,000 steps and fixed myself a turmeric/ginger old fashioned. Delicious! Anyway just a side note here. I went to the bar Tuesday at 4. Took my new spot. Had a Manhattan brought over by my new friend. Started writing on my legal pad, and some short time later ordered a pizza. By the time it came, I asked for a box. A fellow came up to me and asked if I was saving the seat next to me for someone. My purse was on the seat. I told him “No” and looked down the bar. It was filled and so were the tables behind me. The bartender (my new friend) moseyed over and said, “This isn’t working for you, is it Sandy.” “Not really. Why so many on a Tuesday?” And he said, “Because they have not been able to get in for two days.” Then he suggested we try again in October when most will go home to Florida…a state where even The Diary of Anne Frank can now be banned.  So I agreed and will return in another month or so.

So to start, I wanted to talk about how hard it can be to realize that making art for the shear joy of it is getting harder as I age. Why bother? is the question. There is no passion for the making except if it is political statement work. And I will do more for the walls in my garage as soon as I have the energy. But I am alone on that subject. Just this morning I took some flowers to a neighbor who reminded me that she holds opposite political views. I do not understand how she can not see where all this insanity is headed. So we had coffee together in her kitchen and I am accepting that my affection for her is more important right now. It would not matter what I could say, she is locked into her thinking. So I told her that I understood that a person’s identity and sense of self is totally anchored in their beliefs.

So back to artwork. This is an image of the burial of so much of my artwork. I am so glad to have made this choice to see the end of these many, many pieces.

To have this control over what happens is so much better than the unexpected purge of your art by the whims of Nature. This from the unforgiving fires of Dunally, Tasmania some years ago. I went there shortly after so much was lost and was caught up with this image I took of her sewing machine and ironing board. My visit there resulted in an artwork given to their archive center.

At least I had control over the end of my own artworks via a burial.

Other images that caught my eye this morning. This detail of a collaged work. I love owls and doing wood cuts of them for printing.

And my love of so many trips to Australia came through in my art and writings. These burned through Eucalyptus leaves that showed up in so many places with small etched prints of the outback.

I bought a burning tool like artist, Dan Essig ‘s after taking a short weekend workshop with him on surface design and using his. I still hope to use it again but not sure on what….just one of those versatile tools that can evoke so many various thoughts. I still have loads of these Eucalyptus leaves waiting for a place to be of use.

And this one….a detail of one of my antiwar pieces. We are still seeing the death of peace doves with no end in sight with the despicable world leaders taking hold of all our futures.

Here is a detail of the textures of one of these pieces. I love the color and the desire to touch these works.

And this extremely complex egg tempera painting from a photograph I took while staying at a shearer’s shed in Victoria, Australia. I was showing a slide of it while teaching over there, and a young woman came up to me to say she grew up on this sheep farm and recognized the kitchen fireplace. I told her if she gave me her address, I would send it to her. I did when I got home and never heard from her. But that never mattered. I was convinced that she not only received it but had it framed and hung it in a place of pride to tell her children all about the foods that came off that stove.

The painting is only 4″ by 12+” but if you know egg tempera from making gesso from scratch to coat many times while sanding each layer before adding egg yolk to powdered pigment, you understand that it takes more than just a little love for the subject matter.

And this caught my eye as well. It speaks of where I might be now with making art……”toward the unknown”….

Til later….. my glass is empty, and I have the most delicious scones I baked yesterday with ham, cheeses, spinach and scallions to heat up for dinner.