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How could I not add to the installations in the garage! The saga of the reflecting pool is the perfect visual definition of trump’s tenure as president of the US,

First gather the materials: A flag taped to my mailbox by the Property Association (I don’t have any desire to be associated with the US flag right now…maybe never!). And his edited inaugural speech.

Then the assembly begins on a mat cut to fit a cheap plastic shadow box…similar plastic to his gold painted chachka all over the White House.

Of course the flag is hung upside down…like Justice Alito’s wife’s flag while protesting gay rights. The “American Flag Blue” Reflecting Pool is full of algae and chips of paint floating loosely. One can make out a dulling Lincoln Memorial and Washington Monument. Off to the right is the White House with its new wrestling arena proudly filling the front lawn and resulting in dead grass everywhere. Of course it is!

The title of the piece is:

Keep Out

Reflecting on the newly “shit-holed” United States of America.

The main title font is BF Tiny Hands developed back in 1916 by an observant calligrapher watching trump’s handwriting to make it available publicly.

Here are some details:

It is now installed in the garage where I had my usual solo opening reception. Refreshments included Reflecting Pool Cocktail (now a popular bar drink…but not so much here in town).

I usually raise the glass to my mother who was the only person I knew who supported Shirley Chisholm’s bid for president in 1972.  Both would be surprised to see how bigotry still thrives in their country.

I tried to get the peeled pieces of rolled up candy goo to float, but to no avail…each one sunk to the bottom. So sticking them to the sides had to do. The algae stuck on the pick sitting across the rim is the paired down gauze I recently made a shirt from.

The drink was a combination of rum, orange juice and blue curacao. It reminded me of mixed drinks I attempted as a teenager at a friends house  where such delights could be found deep in cupboards. These were the kinds of drinks that made you quite ill the following morning and you never mixed them up again! I have plenty of the sweet blue curacao left and will put it out of sight until I can celebrate the country coming together again…which is quite doubtful at this time.

And the empty glass!

It’s a bit early for a wine, so I will find some British program to watch and pet my cats.

Til later….

 

This past week I had my wellness check up with the doctor. First thing I did when he and I were alone was whip out my sheet of eleven statements on a sheet titled: Concerns, Worries, and Mental Disturbances of Sandy Webster – age 82. His first comment was that he wished more patients would do this. Then we addressed each one. Lots of interesting and humorous conversation over the list with three excellent hugs before he walked me to the front desk. He also told me to call him anytime I get concerned or down. I won’t because he just made me feel better by being there and assuring me he was not going to move away.

They will be building a new clinic in town to make room for all the changes made in the last thirty some years. So I took some pictures of how pleasant it is just to park and walk down into the front doors.

Also this week I began working on the contact printed book of Eucalyptus prints. First the cover…

Then opened to the first page…

Then a larger image of the first “story”…

So while looking closely at the image, here is the poem that will be on the back side of it.

A Neighborly Visit

Ralph pulls aside the broken gate

reminds himself to not be late

in getting home by half past eight.

 

Once inside his neighbor’s yard

he sees an old man standing guard

when he trips, stumbles, and falls down hard.

 

He wakes up later to find himself

sitting in a cage on the old man’s shelf

with a label attached saying, “Rascally Ralph”.

 

Next to him on the right-hand side

is a captured dragon with scaley hide

and bears the label, “Clumsy Clyde”.

 

Next are furry things trapped behind bars.

And some partially filled up specimen jars.

One holding a two-headed slug!  How very bizarre!

 

The old man opens a chest to take out some rum,

picks up an instrument and begins to hum

to an owl eating peaches…and can that be Ralph’s mum!!

 

Who slips her neighbor a five-pound note

as he unlocks Ralph’s cage and hands him his coat,

warning him next time he’ll be shipped off in a boat!

 

I have sent it off to my poetry friend who writes children’s poems and recently had another published in a children’s library magazine in Australia.

She is always good at helping me with rhyming and rhythm. So there might be some changes in the poem. Anyway there are 26 pages to work with in this book and I am going to enjoy the drawing that then encourages a story in rhyme to put on the back.

It lifts my spirits in this time of complete idiocy in our government brought on by the gullible fears of an incompetent population. The images now of our country’s capital is testament to exactly what they voted for….a total destruction of all we stood for as a nation.

One of my poet friends has a granddaughter who is being sent by her clothing company to Geelong in Australia. The company is called Cotton On and after looking it up, appears to be clothing for the younger, athletic person. Anyway, she is looking for recommendations on what to check out on her first trip down under. Is there anything going on in Geelong area or Melbourne that is fashion related. Too bad she is not going to stop by New Zealand to visit the World of Wearable Art! But I will suggest she take a detour. She will be going there around the ninth of July and staying three weeks, so if you think of anything interesting I can tell her, let me know soon. Thanks.

Better get back to writing and drawing…

Til later…

I had something different in mind for this week’s blog. But then what I was working on looks a bit weak to say the least! So I am going to write about what I really want to do. More drawing and more writing.

This week was a return to poetry meetings. It felt right. Here is the poem I wrote for the meeting. It is dedicated to Richard who wrote briefly about the last breath of a moth. It is also about coming to terms about my feelings about poetry. I think it was a good idea for me to take a few months away from the other poets.

For Richard       S. Webster

 

It used to matter

this need to be familiar

with the expectations of poetry

and my failure to understand.

 

It used to really matter.

 

Until I let it all go

stopped asking questions

so I could listen to the story

of a dying moth.

 

I am still writing, still working on my book about letters and getting a poem or two down on paper. But not having to worry whether I understand the words of others has made a difference. They understand their words and whether I do or not makes little difference.

Thinking about the other thing I need to get back to…drawing…brought me into the den to look through some of my favorite sketch books. Remember this one very long concertina book of creatures hidden in among the contact prints of Eucalyptus leaves? I thank the Australian student for her generosity in making me several to bring home….Lorraine O’Brien.

I used others for The Fairy Book and The Stoat Story among a few more. But today I found one more with lovely contact prints by Lorraine and it is just waiting for me to get busy and add my own imagination to. Look at these pages!

Maybe small poems tucked into the pockets at the bottom. It is the same size as the other book with all the animals, so there is quite a few pages to fill.

I also found on the shelf all the Haiku poetry sketchbooks that was instigated by friends in Australia as a way of still working together when we were so far apart. These were fun to do and made me think in syllables of Haiku based on the drawing subject. I kept going long after the others stopped so have many of these journals that I made for this project.

There are several of these Haiku books. Each one held two month’s worth of daily entries. I miss the routine of that. Something about the expectations I put on myself just to follow through with. I miss that. Now it seems all I expect of myself is to get 8,000 steps in five days a week. I need to do better than that. I need to sit with a pencil in hand filling up waiting pages of wonderful drawing paper.

Anyway those are my plans. I will let you know how it goes.

Til later…

 

A good friend and former doctor took me out to lunch this week. Ahi tuna salad with a glass of Chardonnay. Very nice. We caught up on news of her recent trip to France and my excursions into town and my neighborhood. I am getting more reclusive as I age.

Remember those boxes I made that contain all the special sketches and mementos from different countries? Well, that’s how I prefer to travel now. Just mix up a cocktail, sit down with one of seven countries, and fondle the bits of memory enclosed. So much easier and so full of happiness. It was such a good idea to make these boxes to look through later in life as travel would become more difficult.

When we went to the restaurant for that lovely salad, I was able to take the waitress the shirt I made for her. She was very surprised and happy that I did it. Hers is the sage-colored one on the top of the stack.

And I learned that with darker colors, never use a lighter colored thread. It really stands out. The other thing I learned was how meditative it is to sit and use your seam ripper to remove all the offending stitches.

The neighborhood is taking a bit of a chachka look as someone seems to be unloading their collections around the subdivision. Several artificial flowers in flower beds with the real thing, which pushes the idea of a southern cemetery. But this construction worker’s port-a-john really takes the prize! And yes, that actually is a bird house hanging off one side.

I did not venture a trip around the back side to see if the workers were still allowed access.

Back to poetry this week. It feels good putting down words in lines and then knowing those thoughts have found a place to be instead of rambling around in my head and heart looking for a way out. There’s an old fellow from England that I happened onto on line. He sits in his garden, apologizes for not having more flowers than greenery, shrugs deeper into his jacket and reads poems from a very large book. His eyes sit deep above puffy lower lids as they move over the words of a poet he has taken the time to introduce before reading. Just listening to him and seeing the joy he feels when reading, I want to make a cup of tea and sit for a longer time in his company and garden.

I need to do more sketching in my books. It would be a good idea to not have any blank journals left behind. We book makers do not assemble all those pages to be left blank. And I am not the type that would even consider pasting in scraps of paper with a copied phrase from Mary Oliver.

Today I will make a quiche to clean out the fridge and have six meals at the ready.

I will be able to stay at home, keep to myself, and try not to watch the downward crash of a country I once was proud of.

Today it will be a nice Manhattan at the end of the day and early to bed.

Til later….