Clearer views of the 8 designs in the newly-offered set of glossy postcards, A2 size.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Today I declare that imagination is our top and truly kick-ass superpower. As with other endowments, it may be used for good or ill. Today I declare it is no longer appropriate to employ imagination to enlarge or inflate fear or worry, to use it as the magnifying glass that sharpens a focus on our suspected defects, to bend it to our will for the purpose of keeping us frail or tepid or less-than. We, as Werner Herzog reminded in a recent interview, are able to give success our own definition and we certainly are here to save the world by whatever means possible. This will involve stealth, humor, beauty, love and patience.
Without being vast and brilliant, saving the world, even a section no larger than a collar button, would be impossible. Therefore, we must reimagine, redefine what we believe about ourselves and how we fit into this world that needs us at our truest. Recently I found a quote by writer Paulo Coelho, “Don’t be intimidated by other people’s opinions. Only mediocrity is sure of itself, so take risks and do what you really want to do.” As the loudest voice of disapproval is usually the one in our own heads, that is the first one to ignore. Sing louder than it shouts. Make faces and do a silly dance. Righteous mediocrity can't stand any of that. And, above all else, throw your arms around every lumpy, battle-scarred, making-it-up-as-you-go-along inch of your brilliant being and squeeze until you can hardly breathe. Don't let go. I'm not saying this will be easy. It may seem impossible, but, as Coelho also said, "Impossible is just an opinion."
In our reimagining, let's imagine this: that most of what we've been told is wrong or, even more likely, was lies intended to keep us quiet, submissive, to stop us from being troublemakers and siphon our unmistakable coolness out of the tank, leaving us stuck and dispirited.
|Empowering words from Lisa Congdon.|
Saturday, August 23, 2014
Tony Fitzpatrick tells of his artist-in-residence time in Montana and shares a story about the sky.
From Rick Stevens Studio,
|Find the story here.|
|"Yves Saint Laurent’s muse Loulou de la Falaise’s wedding was possibly the most magical ever. Wearing a blue outfit with stars, Loulou told friends she wanted to look like a summer's night sky in Marrakech."|
|Fred Cuming, RA | Cloudscape Camber #art #inspiration http://bit.ly/XDvIXj|
|CUP of SKY|
Pastel & pencil on paper
2014, by Claire Beynon
|Maynard Dixon, Mojave Desert, 1923, oil on board|
Monday, August 18, 2014
|All art today from Domenica More Gordon.|
“If having a soul means being able to feel love and loyalty and gratitude, then animals are better off than a lot of humans.”
― James Herriot, All Creatures Great and Small
This week my Facebook feed was alive with animal videos and I watched them all. As I am allergic to cats and dogs, I don't have extensive first-hand experience of communion with other creatures. Being, at least, a reasonably observant human I understand the depth of such love, of such relationships. In the recent past, too many friends have lost beloved companions. Grief is grief. It is not exclusive to a particular species.
I wondered, briefly, about my sudden affinity for watching cats, dogs, penguins and unidentified small birds being remarkable. I realized their presence gave comfort. That their presence was virtual made a connection to them no less real. A dog splashing water on beached fish, attempting to revive them, astonished me. A cat luxuriating in a lengthy massage, paws, chin, ears, head, torso, made me grateful there was such an attuned and caring friend.
|More about Domenica's felted dogs, and more, here.http://www.domenicamoregordon.com/|
There is no such thing as too much love, the real deal and not some poseur. Love without guile, expectations, conditions and limits, how and where do we find that. Surprisingly - or not - Facebook for all its drawbacks may have offered a clue.
|Animals and art, does it get any better?|
Sunday, August 17, 2014
|Bite-size grilled cheese sandwiches.|
She was of two minds about how she wished she could spend the day. What a luxury to be a girl again, all dreamy and a'swirl in tulle and silk, trying on gowns, party dresses, nearly hypnotized by anticipation and her youthful image in the dressing table mirror. Truth was, she was as enamored of preparing her treats as she had once been of, as she called it, sashaying about, fussing with her hair, writing some boy's name over and over in a notebook, wishing for things she couldn't actually name but felt she would recognize when they arrived.
Work was a tonic, a cure-all, even when no actual ailment was present. She was not moonstruck, not adolescent and definitely not confused. No, she amended. She WAS moonstruck and with good reason. It was rare in what she knew of the world to be so aware of another's essential self as she was of Robert's, without having been told. Gloria believed we possess aspects that never lie to us, that simply receive what is true and allow it to flow freely, a stream returned to life with the first snow melt. Though this was a new experience, she could trust it. She wondered if she ought to rethink trusting the townsfolk not to serve themselves too generously at a buffet. The answer to that was not yet clear.
Saturday, August 16, 2014
|Painting by Andy Smith.|
Monday, August 11, 2014
|All art today by Francoise de Felice.|
As my art for the past 20 years has been primarily involved with designing rubber stamps, there have been, of necessity, lines around everything I do. Recently my thoughts, and heart, have shifted to a more chimerical presentation. I have a deep hunger for what is more flowing, more created of smoke, of vapor, of what may be at least partly imagined, of dreams. As I fall asleep, I imagine paintings as yet non-existent, yet distinct enough to be seen by the mind's eye.
The art of Francoise de Felice, which I found just a few weeks ago, is the manifestation of what seemed too ethereal to become solid matter. That her images are women, the women we may be in our own memories or dreams, the embodiment of the numinous with which we seek enduring connection, draws me even more fully into this world, a world I know though I cannot say from where, or when.