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….

 

This morning I went by myself to see an exhibition at the Young Harris College art gallery not far from here. It had been recommended by friends that I see it. I had the place to myself. No one else was there. As soon as I walked in the door, I was swept up in the work. I looked all over for an artist’s statement about what I was looking at…there was none. So, left with my own imagination, I thought this was an exhibition of recollections of familial connections throughout an older woman’s life. As soon as I soaked it all up, I looked the artist up online. No, she looked to be in her thirties at most, in love with collecting materials, and an extraordinary talent with selecting and placing those materials.

So here is a fraction of the work on exhibit:

And then at the end there was this.

And behind the curtain…

I sat down in the chair and typed my secret….then took a feather.

It now is hung in my studio to remind me not only of my secret but as a reminder that I need to get busy. I need to be the old woman I took this young artist for. There seems to be a sense of urgency when I see the materials that surround me….the materials that have yet to be put into place on something that says, “Here I am as I see myself today.” I have been writing autobiographical works on paper. But I have not “built” myself in awhile.

I thought, at first, this artist was me. I saw so much in the use of stitch, found object, parts of things that had other purpose before they were collected as elements of design. Several things in common through the look of her work and remembering mine. I will say she used several old photographs, all of which I assumed were from her family’s history. I am not so sure of that now. Why would almost everything there be for sale if it was her family?

Personally, I have strong views on using old photographs of people we don’t have personal connections with. They (the photographs) are quick private glances of a moment in their lives that we should not feel free to exploit as simply another bit of material to make our work more intriguing. They never posed for that purpose, never could have guessed that their picture would be used by total strangers years later as just another interesting material placed among other old things.

Aside from all that, the exhibit is beautifully done and I am so glad friends recommended I go see it. The design and craftsmanship is near perfection. The amount of work to peer into is most plentiful and rewarding. It will be on exhibit until late September.

My heart ached when I saw this exhibit and it ached a bit more when I realized the artist was not an old woman putting her life’s connection to her own history on display. I so wanted her to be an old lady gripping needle and thread, cloth, paper and what was left of a lifetime of saving bits and pieces for a final display of a life connected to those who came before her.

And a year ago today I had just moved in…

All those boxes unpacked and their contents put where they belong. The best parts are on the walls and in here, the studio, where the most amazing thoughts occur to me. I could finish writing about a man leaving. I could plug in the second story on a disk by Tana French, I could draw and paint another image of Burke and Wills growing old together, I could go for a walk to step away from myself….But I won’t. I am going to pour a glass of wine and think about how much it matters to me that the artist was not an old lady.

Thank you for listening to this post. There really is no one else who would not have preferred I was talking about the weather.

Wine is waiting…

til later….

 

I have mopped the floors, done the laundry, tidied up. I was supposed to devote this weekend to writing the Burke and Wills story….maybe tomorrow.

Took this picture on my way to the gym the other day to start tai chi classes…Seemed to capture the mood of “which way now”.

Moving away from the table full of men each morning has made me more observant. I write as I listen and look. The writing is done on a small yellow lined pad. Easy to pull out of my purse and easy to slip out of sight when someone comes over to talk.

Here is one day’s notes.

“He is still talking – non-stop. He needs to be heard but not necessarily listened to. Just those around him to not talk while he does. Interesting how we all are secure knowing there will not be a test later. Not talking while he does is the only requirement. Two of my favorites are not here yet. Funny how they level the place by just taking a seat. I wonder if that dynamic could be captured in art? By line? Textile? Color? Maybe I need to do a sketchbook of these men gathering…no direct image capturing but done after being here. Marks that are the sensations of recall. “Sensations of Recall”. Nice. That is such a good title for an exhibition. Maybe a very long horizontal textile or paper with marks meant to be read left to right. Eye level. Small stones tied to the bottom for the “lows”.

This could be something worked on daily, weekly. Rolled up as completed. Why not? Fabric would take stitching and weight of stone. But paper captures the fragility of recalling. That is another good term. “Fragility of Recall”. Maybe it could all be done in writing that is unreadable. Pencil that fades in and out. Like memory/recall. To make it workable – maybe small scraps to be tied to the long background cloth/paper…this might be worth pursuing. But I need to spend time with Burke and Wills….

One of the men stopped by my table to ask about what I was writing. I told him about the idea of Sensations of Recall and wondering the best way to interpret it in a medium of fragility. He has sculpted metal pieces and said he was only concerned with form and that I seemed to put so much thinking into the work before even starting. Now I am thinking that the way I work has a built-in procrastination.

It got me to thinking about how groups of men have been such a comfortable place for my art and writing. Here is a piece I wrote more than a few years ago. It is the last three stanzas of a longer piece titled, The Repairman.

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.

 

The men I wrote about in this piece gave me old bits and pieces of their scraps no longer needed to make something whole again. I made several sculptures in old wooden boxes that I called “Patriarchs” from these.  Each one had an old saw blade or sanding disk placed behind it to give the impression of him being an angel. Then I photographed each of them to alter the image into just their essence. I only kept one of these sculptures. It lives on a top shelf in the living room.

It is going to be hot again today. So I have pulled all the shades down, turned fans and the A/C on.  Before I started this blog, I finished off the Stick and Stones Book.

Now it goes on the shelves with other finished books.

All of this reminds me of the years asking myself,  “Have I done enough and have I done it right?”  I asked so many others if they were always asking themselves this.  No, they didn’t.  One woman, artist/printmaker Freda Fairchild, made me look at her as she said, “Sandy, it doesn’t matter.” If it doesn’t matter then why am I still wondering. It is one of those overthinking days. I will go find Burke and Wills….

Til later….

 

 

So much going on in just a few days. Last Thursday I attended a board meeting at the local library. We all went to give support to the library for refusing to ban a book from their shelves. A very ignorant and self-inflicted fearful woman was coming to rail against a children’s book referencing the life of a transgender child.  The woman was claiming to bring a group of pastors along with her.

In all honesty here, and strictly speaking for myself, almost all pastors missed their chance to be righteous when they could not make a stand against the obscene behaviors of Donald Trump in 2015 and continue to defer to their less-than-Christian parishioners’ blind beliefs that he might just be the “second coming”. But I digress…

It was so reassuring that I live in a decent area when the library was packed with supporters for the library’s policy on banning books. They simply do not unless it goes through a rigorous process to have the book removed from the shelves. The complaining woman proudly claimed her source of information on such matters came from Fox News. The audience erupted in laughter before we could stop ourselves. The pastors tried to make the case of if genders were changed then it was going against god’s gender assignments.  But the teachers, social workers and finally a parent of a transgender child made the case for how terribly difficult they make it for those personally involved in keeping these young people feeling secure. Their bigotry and fear have no place in setting policies prohibiting rights.

It was a good day. My own thinking is, if sushi is on the menu and you don’t like it, don’t order it. But you have no right to have it taken off the menu. It has happened with abortion rights in this country and we will see it again and again as the ignorant gain positions of power.

All that with no pictures!

Heading toward the light at the gym in the morning. Very hot days this week, so I have stayed inside….listening to a long book on tape and sewing. The book was my first audio book from the library since before Lee’s diagnosis. An 18 CD mystery by Tana French, In The Woods. I will take it back today and get another of hers. I found a note I made of this that she wrote in another book about aging.

“A gradual decline. An insidious, almost unnoticeable process that you only discover at sudden, shocking moments.”

Now that is good writing! I must have got that from an actual book because CDs do not let you take notes. I used to take lots of notes from Cormac McCarthy books as well.

And speaking of good stories, I am watching all the Hercule Poirot episodes.

I am quite taken by these period pieces done in England. The cars, houses, gardens, clothes, trains, and those old buses! And these two are so dapper. The actor Hugh Fraser was so well cast as Hastings. I looked him up and found he has several novels to his credit. And Miss Lemon, so fragile looking with skin like porcelain. Anyway I will be sad to see the end of them.

Speaking of writing, I had a meeting with a woman in the poetry group who is quite well published in children’s poems. She asked me to scan what I had written in rhyme so far of the Burke and Wills story. So I made her a copy as well as myself before I met up with her. No, scanning in poetry means something totally different! It is the symbols over each syllable that show where rhythm and emphasis make the spoken words sound “right” or “struggling”. Isn’t that interesting? She is going to educate me in the process of writing poetry for children and gave me copies of other’s poems to see how and why they work so well. She wants me to continue and says it is not all that common for the writer to also be the illustrator in children’s books. I am grateful for her interest.

I went into my closet and pulled out things I wasn’t wearing. A pair of grey linen pants I made a few years back were showing areas of extreme thinness. So I took more bits of linen (some from the sleeves of a shirt that were too snug at the wrist) and some scraps from cutting out other pants. While I listened to the novel, I hand stitched the patches on.

Here is the shirt I cut the sleeves off. I couldn’t bear to part with all those stitched patches I put on it a few years ago. Now it is a pullover vest of sorts.

And another purchased linen shirt that I put leaf dyed patches on all the places things dribbled down the front. Well. the leaf images all washed out eventually so I put more linen patches on top. I will have to be careful who I wear these clothes around. But they are just at the right stage of softness when they falter a bit and need attention.

And I did get to the last pages of the Sticks and Stones Book. Only have the hidden flaps to draw in now. Actually, I look at this book and wonder, “What was the point of all this??!!”  And the only answer is that it kept me busy making marks in among someone else’s marks. It made me feel connected to Australia with all those eucalyptus leaves. It made me feel in good company. And that is more than enough.

When I need someone to talk to, you know the kind I mean, the ones who are actually listening, I open a book of blank pages and write or draw…or I go to my poetry meetings where they listen to every word. In a couple of weeks I am meeting up with a two or three artists over lunch. Maybe I can talk art to them. Maybe I can hear about art and their struggles to get an idea across. Maybe. I will let you know.

Anyway here is the last of Sticks and Stones. It has been good company.

And speaking of good company…my moving off by myself at another table when meeting up with the coffee group, has been a good idea. Instead of sitting in the crosshairs of testosterone, they will approach my two stool table with their cup of coffee and sit down for a one-on-one chat. The man who advised me to visualize a stop sign before I said something too abruptly has appeared again. We had a lovely talk about age, possessions, and the need to hold onto the ones that touch you deeply in some way. He used to write. I think he should again. He has a kind way of seeing things.

I guess this as good a place as any to stop.

Til later….