I no longer walk over to the gym in the early hours. Too dark to cross through the field. But driving back after the workout, it seems most inviting starting down the road to home.

This week I had a check up with my eye doctor after the zapping spots surgery last week. And then a trip to the dermatologist who struck me as having a bit more humor in him than the last time I saw him. Not so prickly. He took bits off my face and I have to go back in ten days to get the results and maybe more holes on the other side.

I asked some Australian friends to recommend books for me to read. Here is the first I will get stuck into. Takes place in Tasmania.

Another one that several were reading is this one on Orwell’s wife. Should be interesting.

This morning after the workout at the gym, I had coffee with the guys in town. Then back home for a little while before walking back to the gym for the weekly tai chi class. I am getting better but the knees complain with the weight shifting. I seem to get the aches worked out by the time I walk back home.

Then a quick lunch and up to the library for the monthly poetry meeting. There were fifteen of us there and some very good bits of writing. I am beginning to understand it all a bit better. I read this one about an old man in my town before here who inspired artwork and writing.

 

The Repairman

He arrives daily with his hair slicked back and his shoes shined.

Even his work clothes look clean and pressed

as they hang comfortably on his body.

 

With an agility that belies his advancing years,

he seems capable and ready

for any task at hand.

 

His sense of order carries over into his shop.

There is a place for everything

and everything is in its place.

 

Name or initials painted on the tools clarify his ownership

and he expects each to be returned,

not only to him, but to its place.

 

Assorted hand tools, blades, brushes and belts

hang from every available hook and nail.

All of it labeled.

 

Drawers and boxes are marked as to their contents.

Jars of nails line the shelves.

It is all here. And it is easy to find.

 

Each day his shop fills with the smells

of wood, motor oil, dust, tobacco,

and the sound of men’s voices accented with low laughs and silences.

 

Small stools of scrap wood and old milk crates

are scattered around the shop as resting places between jobs,

offered, as is his coffee, to visitors.

 

What he enjoys most is the company of men who come by with some repair work.

So he can pride himself in having all that’s needed

to get the job done.

 

There is a casualness in the shared trust between him and the others around him.

And because of this it seems that each becomes a better man

when in his company.

 

I come here often to fill a longing in myself

and to remember others like him

who I have lost along the way.

 

Here in this shop, I watch and wait for him to select

The parts needed to fix the broken.

Here I am whole.

 

When I finished they asked where or what publication would publish this piece. And before they could get very far, I told them I was not interested in that. The poem was in one of the S. Webster books and that was enough. I think they hunger for being published in papers, poetry books, anthologies, etc. None of that matters to me. Chasing after notoriety at 79 years of age seems to have little meaning for me. I can only hope they understand. They all know where my work is available and I think only one has bought one of the four books. She is the one helping me to understand how children’s books are written.

Speaking of which, I did more drawings for Burke and Wills. One of them shows more of their midlife time together….before heading off to the nursing home where the story will end.

I enjoy the illustrating more than the writing. But I will get the hang of it.

In the meantime, Dilly and Sadie are the best company.

After the brief lunch with three other artists, we have decided to meet here at my place in October to show work and talk art. I look forward to that.

Not much else new. It has been an exhausting day. I have had an early dinner and will likely fall into bed in the next two hours.

More later…

The Blue Moon through the North Carolina fog at 5 a.m. the other morning And then same time the following morning.

And following this palette of color, I took this picture of my vodka tonic with lime the other afternoon.

My drinking glasses are often these that Lee made from empty wine bottles. We found the best were Pinot Grigio from the Cupcake Wine Co. They are a thick glass and the look of melting glaciers. We would design a resist pattern to use on them after Lee slowly turned them on his wood lathe to cut at the right height we wanted. Then he had devised a way to sand the sharp edges. After cleaning them up, we put our resist patterns on them (cut out from Contact paper) and into the sand blaster they went to be sprayed with a very fine sand. Here we used a simple cube look (small squares). They are nice heavy glasses and Lee used to sell them at craft shows. And we gave several away. I love using them for tonic drinks.

This morning after laundry, shower scrubbing, sweeping and dusting….it was time for lunch. But before the sandwich, I pulled out my broccoli, cauliflower, green onions and spinach, to make this soup that is delicious cold. I cook the chopped bits in chicken broth until sort of soft. Add some crushed garlic, cumin, cayenne pepper and summer savory (I only use this in soup because I have no idea what else to do with it). Then I use my wand mixer to cream it all down with a nice portion of half and half. Add a bit of salt after tasting and put it in the fridge to get cold for dinner and a few more meals after that. Color is similar….

Walking into town in the morning for coffee, I pass this lichen-laden tree.

And because I knew my basket making friends in Australia were having a gathering, I brought out my Gathering Book which sort of represents what they all do while together. It makes me feel like I am there. Soon they will all be waking up in their own beds back home, so I want them to see my time with them in absentia.

I usually draw baskets in my studio and other bits of things I know they will be using. Then the stitching of patches with some drawing of basket materials.

Some details of those…

I often think these close ups would make great advance sketches for large paintings.

And then drawing the small feathers, buttons, pins and needles that I know are scattered about their work tables.

The second Tana French audio CD finished on the buttons page.

I also wanted to do a bit of a follow-up on the last post about the exhibit I went to see.

Back in undergraduate school my advisor made it abundantly clear that we were to stay out of galleries with prices attached to the works. He considered works with a price next to the piece was likely just “showing to sell”. He called this work, “slick”. Better to have a catalogue with artist statement and concealed price list for those pieces that were available for purchase. I like this thinking because the work can be taken at its visual value and not the monetary worth. And I think that bothered me about the work on exhibit…the pricing. That and the big issue of really thinking because of the age of the look in the photos used, I was seeing a contemporary’s work of reflections on her family history, and how she was connected to all of what I saw.  Without an artist statement of her intentions for the work and the prices prominent, I think this was maybe, just maybe, a look at what was likely done for show and sale.

Anyway, going through old artist statements of my own for various exhibits of my work, I found this from a show twenty years ago. Even then I was thinking about age coloring how I work as an artist.

ARTIST STATEMENT 

Sandy Webster

This latest body of work relates to perceptions of aging. Are we ever truly prepared for the adjustments that have to be made in our bodies and minds? How much has experience and memory clouded our ability to focus and assess with clarity our present condition? What do we hold dear …… and how do we ever learn to release ourselves with trust toward whatever lies ahead.

Most of the work relies heavily on found objects that evoke thoughts of other place and purpose, a history and age of their own. Text is used throughout as a documentation and record of the attempts to capture the small glimpses of strong feelings ….. illusive passion… re-remembered with a sense of urgency.

I am twenty years older now and really do feel this sense of urgency. I don’t collect the pieces from junk and salvage yards that helped me get the ideas across to the viewer. Most of those things were used up in earlier works. And several were buried with works that mattered in the making and exhibiting…then were over. That is one of the best things I ever did with my art….wrap in cotton, tie with raffia, shellac the bundle, and then lay it to rest. There was so much that needed that final thoughtful closure.

In moving house, I have pared down quite a bit. I have pulled back to less strenuous ways of working. I draw more. And I write. I write myself onto the page and into the imaginary lives of others who will sometimes speak for me.  It is an okay place to be.

Til later….