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People often have ideas of what an artist's life is like - probably along these lines: Woken by the sunlight streaming into their bedroom, the artist rolls out of bed to find a silver tray with breakfast and a red rose in a vase, along with the morning's paper waiting for them; the warm smell of fresh coffee wafting throught the air, whose peaceful tranquility is only broken by the chittering of birds in the blossoming ancient cherry tree in front of the open window - BSCCHTTKREEEKSQUEEELCRAWK BRSCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH - we interrupt this program for some real artist life schmackerels: actually my mornings begin with the yelling of the husband at the kids before the sun even attempts to rise (probably in anticipation of the mayhem about to ensue) - KID NUMBER ONE! WAKE UP! GOOD MORNING! KID NUMBER TWO! WAKE UP! GOOD MORNING! KID NUMBER THREE! WAKE UP! GOOD MORNING! (because, you see: we have stairs in our house. The kids' rooms are upstairs. Our bedroom is downstairs. Yelling is enough workout in the morning...) So, the response -as is quite au naturel for a teenager, a pre-teen and an eight year old: DAD, STOP YELLING- I"M UP! Shortly thereafter there is an earthquake of sorts with epicenter right above my head - ah, yes, the sweet sound of children hurtling through their rooms in search of socks, underwear and trouble with their siblings. Oh joyous morn! Oh socks forlorn! Then, with a poltering not unlike an avalanche of boulders tumbling down the side of Pikes Peak , they arrive downstairs, only to meet the lord of all yelling, the husband - who in a calm, quite peaceful voice yells: SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH - KIDS! MOM"S SLEEEEEEPING - CAN'T YOU BE QUIET??? YOU'RE GOING TO WAKE HER UP!!!
Awwww - how sweet! He's concerned about my sleep - that almost drives tears to my eyes...oh, wait, no not my eyes, but my kids' eyes - one by one they appear beside my bed (with three minutes inbetween each, just to make sure I'm dozing off before the next one wakes me) to complain that either (pick one)
a) they can't find any socks
b) didn't have breakfast
c) can't find a hairbrush
d) are being rushed by dad who has to leave and take them to school on the way to work
e) need me to sign some obscure permission slip that should have been turned in last week, was due the day before yesterday, looks like a jar of peanut butter barfed on it, and is illegible, but will destroy the universe if it's not turned in by yesterday - and no, the pen they bring me doesn't work... Sometime in all this beautiful music, I do hear it - there are birds - BIRDS! Outside! Chirping! But alas, not the time to listen - instead the crescendo is near inside the house KIDS! I'M LEAVING RIGHT NOW!!! GET IN THE CAR - NOW! I'LL LEAVE WITHOUT YOU!! BYE! - followed by schrieks from the 8 year old DAAAAAAD - I CAN'T FIND MY SOCKS! DON'T LEAVE!! - followed by a long lecture at 5000 decibles about how is anybody supposed to know where socks is, if they are laying around in the livingroom instead of the laundry, and how getting ready is supposed to happen after getting up, not when it's time to leave, and about how being late is not acceptable for dad or he'll lose his job, and how where in the world are your socks, get in the car right now, where are your socks? And suddenly - quite unexpected - there it is again: BIRDS - outside my window! where there actually used to be a cherry tree (the birds moved over a few branches to the maple - and seem quite plump and happy there). And I can hear them! In the background, the fading sound of a car filled with bickering kids and a dad at wit's end - ah, joyous morn. And it's all mine! So - if you ask where I get my inspiration from; that is it: from listening through the mayhem into what is the peaceful stuff behind it. It's easy to focus on the loudness, the mayhem, the unpleasantness in life - it has ways of making itsself noticed (in my house, it happens to yell to get attention - it has to, otherwise it will be overheard). But, inbetween, there are glorious glimpses of golden sunlight, lazy, munching wooly things in the morning fog, a big, deep WOOF , to greet me when I go outside and a warm cup of tea with lots of sugar and cream to keep me company in my - oh so quiet! - sunny studio. And paint brushes, and tubes of all the colors of the rainbow. And paper, and canvas, and easels, and all the stuff that makes an artist's life the kind that everybody seems to be jealous of - and rightly so, I might add... At least until the door opens a few hours later with a "MOOOOM - I'M HOOOOOME" - and that is where inspiration comes back home. Gotta love it. And just so you'll have something to see - here are two older pieces of work from a few years ago (many of my ebay collectors will remember these from wayyy back) - I just came across an old cd with images from 2004 -so this is from the last year of my feebay times (which, ptl are over). I quit selling there in March 2004 (i think...). Back then I was quite a bit into abstracts with lots of color - which was a bit contrary to the current fad of earth-tones, neutrals and what I always referred to as "pukey colors". I always figured there was a reason that the paint companies made all those different pigments - better use them, before they switch to all neutral pukey shades... This is a landscape that was painted back then - inspired by my favorite place to be - Colorado! If I recall correctly, this was painted in one of those drought years where there was no green anywhere - just brown and dry as far as the eyes could see, under a blinding blue sky. Minus the clouds. A few years before that, this was your typical sight instead: lush green fields (in early summer - later on everything would dry out again), blue sky with sheepy clouds, and gorgeous mountain vistas. Sheesh - now I went and made myself homesick. Rats. So there you have it - dark secrets from my past and present: I haven't always painted sheep - nor do my kids behave like sheep, but I do love them more than the sheep. And that counts for quite a bit...
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