Monday, October 6, 2014

I can't think of a title today

My Mom is coming. Look out. The upper house is dusted, vacuumed, bathroom cleaned, fresh sheets on bed, new pillows, lots of knitting ready. Today, I will finish paying the bills, cleaning the litter (better do that sooner than later) and organize my thoughts so that I can keep chugging along while She's here. It isn't hard to chug along, but I have to do the thinking and planning in advance or I get to the studio and get mixed up. It seems I can't visit and think at the same time.

Tomorrow, the horrible, awful, disgusting kitchen floor has to be washed. I know this because the cat, who is usually right on top of this computer whenever I type, is howling her head off from the kitchen. She's stuck to the floor. Can't move. Paws immobilized. This might be OK if she was near her food dish, but she isn't. She is in the middle of no man's land, that area of the kitchen, under the kitchen table, where a certain person 'accidentally' knocks the crumbs to, or kicks the bits under. Don't look. Well, the cat looked and serves her right, bloody animal. I've been meaning to do this job since May, but every time I look down the basement stairs in the direction of the mop, something happens and by day's end I think, "Good thing I didn't waste time washing that thing, look at how messy it is now." But alas, when mothers set foot in one's home, either the floor is washed or the oven is cleaned. I believe in moving house every time the oven needs cleaning. Or buying a new one. I'll think about that later, said an exhausted Scarlet O'Hara (who can't even quote herself she is so tired.)

Well what about Turkey you ask? I do not disappoint. Here goes.
I really have no idea what that is, but I like its slight tilt. Or maybe I was tilted.
Really old stones and new mortar, adjacent to concrete blocks. Little itty bitty plants. We are being hustled through an old market place that is cool and quiet and has a lovely cafe, all the way over there and we aren't stopping because we have to go....
To another tomb type place. But that's alright because the mosaic ornamentation is glorious.
Now next time you visit, I'm going to show you the original capital city of Ottoman Turkey. This place is so old, I can't even grasp it. There will be a ton of photos, so bring tea. Turkish tea would be better.

Changing direction but staying in the themes for the fall, I spent a large part of my time at the camp working on water colours, pastels and ink drawings. I tried to do two or three little drawings every day.

I dropped the blue ink bottle. I was going to try for something serene. Ended up with quite a storm. This is Steve's favorite.

I spent the spring going to my favourite artists and copying them. That is, I tried to draw what they had done as accomplished artists and then I tried to replicate the colours somehow. This is my first real attempt at drawing something out of my own head. I used Pentone markers for the blues and green and white ink for the ... white.

I'll keep teasing you with a few of these for the next few weeks. The studio work is still happening but I've slowed down a bit. I have signed up for a water colour course at Carla Sonheim's Silly University, along with a 'wood burning' course. I am going to learn how to burn paper artistically. Why? Because some one around here needs to know how to do it, just in case. The year of the Fairy Tale continues. Here's something to snort about. You know how as a kid and when you had to supply art supplies to your own kids the magic markers would run all over the place if you even sneezed in the same room. Every time you had to do a project on bristol board paper it would rain the day it was due. Mothers the suburb over would drive frantic kids to school to avoid the bleeding (literally) markers. Well, Carla's recent lesson involves drawing with markers and then smoodging them with water. We've done this before in other classes, but this one is a bit more ambitious. Do my magic markers bleed? No. They are ram rod dry. How is this possible? I bought the cheapest things to be found, dry as a bone. I already had expensive ones on hand for drawing Hot Flash Woman with. Also dry. I went to the art store, drew a bunch of lines with different brands of markers and (when no one was looking) spit on my finger and tried to smudge them. All dry. I think Mothers of the World have united and fixed the bleeding markers on projects problem. Too bad it happened now.

Six days ago (my husband is counting) I promised a curry dinner. Since then, I have found numerous and devious ways to avoid this. I paid over one hundred students to roam the streets, to scream and shove each other outside the house two nights running so I didn't sleep a wink. I twisted my knee on my morning walk so it hurt too bad to stand. One night I cooked up the chicken only to remember there was a lovely salmon filet for that night (Steve cooked it) and one night a pizza showed up. In the meantime all the veggies have been used up, the chicken has been eaten for lunches and I am out of tricks. I will not offer to make a curry again. I will get takeout.

In fact, I think I need to make it clear that in future, any time I offer to do the cooking, it will automatically be known that it will be take out. Or from the freezer of a caterer. I adore caterers.

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