“I see by your outfit that you are a cowboy painter.
I see by your outfit that you’re a cowboy painter too.
We see by our outfits that we are both cowboys painters.
If you get an outfit you can be a cowboy painter too!”
Smothers Brothers with a little ad libbing by moi.
Today I wore my paintin’ pants. And shirt. And sweatshirt. And because I was dressed for the occasion I painted. Or maybe I dressed for the occasion so I could paint. It’s one of those universal mysteries like the chicken and egg thing.
This is a most flattering selfie, don’t you think? It’s the real deal, complete with pockets stuffed with tissues. A boatload of tissues. No, no, more than that–a shitload of tissues, which is A LOT. Because I have a cold and I draw the line (cliche AND arty pun in one sentence, 2 points!) I draw the line at wiping my nose on my sleeve. Unless I have to.
Eeweeeee.
God bless me, I’m sneezing as I type this.
By the way, that’s Bean up there. He wants you to admire his Mom haircut. I relieved him of a good three inches of curly poodle fluff last night, proof I should not be left alone with scissors. DearDaughter says he now looks like one of those shivering waifs-in-a-cage in a 90 second Humane Society guilt-a-thon. I do believe she’s right.
I took Bean to the studio with me, along with his sister Sophie. They lasted about five minutes before I realized that was NOT a good idea. I could either paint or I could keep dogs out of trouble but I couldn’t do both. So I took them back home where they still got in trouble but I didn’t have to witness it…just clean it after the fact.
I decided to work on the piece I started last week. I wrote about it at the time and you can see the earlier work-in-progress photos here.
CONFESSION: I did NOT want to paint. I wanted to draw on the iPad. I LOVES me my iPad!
REVELATION: But once I actually began painting I remembered WHY I do this. Simple, really . . . because I can’t NOT do this. This. Is. Who. I. Am.
And this is the painting where I left it last time. FYI: It’s acrylic on canvas, 24 by 24 inches.
This is where I left it today. It’s still far from done but the open medium slows the drying time and I needed things to set up before I could do more layers. The light was changing, the painting was in the awkward middle stage and I had a cold.
It was definitely time to wash the brushes and close up shop for the day.
So I did.
We’ll see what tomorrow brings. Or maybe next week. This puppy needs to sit for a little while, till I stop whining and sneezing and get my paint mojo back.
Da Muse is telling me this might be a landscape. Who am I to argue….
What do you think? I’d love to hear what you have to say in the comments below. And if you say something somewhat profound, like hello, I might even come over and chop your dog’s hair off groom your dog. (Rubs hands together with a maniacal cackle)
Or I might just sit here and type a reply and eat chocolate in your honor.
This is day 2 of Clearing Space, a personal challenge for the month of February wherein I will release clutter from my environment, as much as I can in 15 minutes on any given day, 15 minutes being my limit when it comes to housework. Which could be why the place is a mess in the first place.
And because this is an art blog, I will take arty ‘after’ photos.
Today’s challenge: The dining room.
We have, in real estate parlance, a formal dining room. Formal as in a designated room of it’s own, not in what goes on there. Oh sure, Mr. Spouse and I dress for dinner. . . in the same clothes we wore all day. And sometimes, if it’s a weekend and we’re feeling particularly slovenly, the same clothes we wore the day before.
I guess the point I’m trying to make is it’s a formal dining room and we rarely eat there naked.
Naked dining being informal and that just wouldn’t do now, would it? Besides the obvious spilling problem, Mr. Spouse would discover the secret behind my skinny jeans. And I already know his truth. Pluh-eeze. Let’s just say we’re at the point in our relationship where clothing is preferred, not optional.
Lately the diningroom has become the UPS drop zone although FedEx has been known to encroach upon it too. It’s the place where important packages languish on the table. Languish, like the lazy bums they are. UNOPENED. And those that were opened are languishing empty, little packing peanuts and wads of paper proving great amusement for the cat. And for the little dogs who are NOT SUPPOSED to get on the table but they do.
I know they do because I am their mother and mothers know these things. And besides, I’ve seen them up there (insert your favorite expletive meaning shit here).
The table seats eight, but recent clutter creep has banished the two of us, Mr. Spouse and moi, to the far end. Dining in the kitchen nook is not an option, as least not yet, as the kitchen table is where mail, magazines and laptops dwell. Let’s not forget the laptop case that has become the favorite resting place of Kitty, she of the packing peanuts in the dining room fame.
Note to self: When Kitty dies bury her in the laptop case. She would be very happy there for all eternity and then you have the excuse to buy a new case. Red, the red one.
So being that the kitchen is farther down on the clutter clearing calendar and dinner is an every night affair (about the only affair in my life, trust me) I decided to tackle the dining room today.
Dining Room
Fifteen minutes. That’s all it took. I’m still wondering why I didn’t do this before. I mean, really, why did I wait so long?
Be back tomorrow. As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.
Don’t be fooled by that cute little face. Because behind it, somewhere in the ATTITUDE section of her little canine head, is a monkey butt. MONKEY BUTTTTTTTT……
I came in from the studio and caught her on the table today. The dining room table. Like a cat. But she’s not a cat, she’s a D.O.G.
It wasn’t the first time.
Disclaimer: The cat does NOT get on the table. Mostly never. Oh no, she gets on my shoulders while I’m sitting at the table. Like she’s auditioning for a future role as a fur wrap. Which she might be.
I just thought you should know.
And now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s talk about ART!
This week was all about exhaling. About breathing deep and letting go of expectations. And commitments. About taking time for me.
I came home early from work one day, like 10 AM early. Wasn’t feeling well. I stretched out on the sofa and crashed for a couple of hours. When I woke up I put my feet on the coffee table, grabbed a notebook and started sketching.
And yes, the notebook already had notes in it but they were so…yesterday. Or maybe last year. Whatever. They had served their purpose and were talking up paper. So I drew right over them.
From the very first sketch, the one up above, I realized I had NO idea where I was going. I just began making marks. Anatomically incorrect marks involving women with interesting parts.
I’m quite fond of lady parts, especially my own. So I just let it happen as I sketched merrily along.
A day or two later I picked up the notebook again (hereafter referred to as the Art Journal because it sounds so…arty) and decided to take the little sketches further. Thought charcoal for be nice for depth. And then fixative to keep the charcoal from breeding with the other pages. Spray Fix is something I recently discovered that I have cans and cans of, proving it pays to organize the supplies once in awhile.
Well, the charcoal was fun but blah. These suckers needed some punch. So I added pastels. And more fix. And then acrylic markers because they make everything pop. And some collage because why not?
Gaia Susan Lobb-Porter
Before I knew it these journal entries turned into mini-paintings. Or studies for future paintings that can be developed further, like maybe next week.
Surrender to Love Susan Lobb-Porter
Oh, my best, best, BEST beloveds…I can see you scratching your heads (heads, yes, you have at least two in my world) scratching your heads and saying but Susan, this is soooo not what you usually do.
And you would be right.
So check back next week and see what happens. You might be surprised.
I found sweet Lana lying by the gate today. She was dead. From the looks of things, she just keeled over. Ka-boom. Just. Like. That.
She wasn’t sick. Wasn’t in pain. And ever the sweet pony that she was, she didn’t put me in the heart wrenching position of having to make THAT decision.
She actually did me a favor dying like that. An old horse, a very old horse, moving on to wherever it is old horses go. Leaving the body she no longer needed right there by the gate. By the gate…so we could get her out of there easy peasy. If you ever even contemplated moving a dead horse you’d know how considerate that is.
Oh God, I’m going to miss her so.
Lana 1980-2013
Going to miss that deep throaty nicker every time she caught sight of me. Her boundless enthusiasm as she cantered up to the fence for dinner. Or just to say hi, as recently as yesterday. Her kick-ass I’m the boss mare attitude towards the others in the herd. Her catch me if you can shennigans when the the mood was upon her.
Lovin’ on Lana
I’m going to miss her, oh how I’ll miss her. But she didn’t go before she taught me the lesson I needed to learn, that it’s okay to open your heart, okay to risk it all by loving someone. Even when you know that someone isn’t going to be around forever. Even though that love will someday break your heart.
I wrote all about that here. And because of that lesson, I also know it’s okay to feel what I’m feeling now. Which is shitty.
Really, it’s okay.
Because shitty will pass. And when it does, the lesson learned will be stronger than ever. It’s okay to love. To feel deeply. To be vulnerable. And it’s okay to feel good again.
Thank you Lana, for teaching me that. Happy trails. Namaste. And while you’re galloping around up in pony heaven, say hi to Roy and Dale and Jesus for me.
I have not been here for a week. Have not written a blog post, have not thought of writing one.
But wait! Wasn’t that something I said I’d do when I redesigned the blog? Said I’d post something every day. Because, after all, I am a super-human, super-creative, super-duper-super-woman extraordinaire. Without the cape.
Capes get in the way.
Oh, whack me upside the head for being such a silly girl. For not realizing that sometimes life gets in the way of good intentions. That sometimes we need to be and do other stuff. And so I was doing. Doing doing doing DOING until my head spun a complete 360 like that kid in The Exorcist.
I was cleaning and clearing Mama’s cottage for the renter. Shlepping stuff up the hill to my place. To the dining room table for further sorting. To the kid’s rooms, the kids who no longer live here so I can use their rooms as storage for saddles and other stuff until I figure out where they need to be…those rooms.
To the thrift stores. And the dump. Buh-bye.
And all the while my head was SPINNING.
Because this week marks the second anniversary of Mama’s one-way ticket to Jesusland. The week she turned to me with such a perplexed expression on her face and asked, “Why is my body doing this to me?” And all I could say to her was “Because you’re so damn old.”
There was nothing more I could do for her except love her and tend to her with my sisters. That last morning, when she could no longer speak, I slipped some shaved chocolate between her lips. Her favorite, Green & Black 85% Dark. Her smile was pure bliss.
A few hours later she died, just a two weeks shy of her 96th birthday. She died at home. In the cottage, the cottage I’m now okay with renting.
Still, it’s been a rough week. Hard work and bittersweet memories. The cottage is clean now, the renter moved in. I still have sorting, distributing and disposing of stuff but the pressure of a deadline is past. I can breathe now. Relax a little.
This evening I went down to stand with the ponies while they had their buckets, their nightly treat of senior chow and supplements. And as they ate I stood there opening my senses to the moment. Taking it all in. The sight of the mud, of hoof print size puddles, of hay trod into the muck. The pile of hair beneath Lana, hair I pulled out by the handfuls last night in lieu of a proper brushing.
But it was the sounds of the evening that rounded things out. The sound of horses slurping. Birds high up in the trees. So many of them, different birdsong, sweet and clear. From down the lane the sound of voices. A small child. Adults speaking. Laughing. And then the music, notes from some sort of flute.
The sounds dipped and wove around each other like music. Subtly so. We’re not talking boom box here. But standing there with my all my senses…with my heart open to the moment…it was lovely.
Here’s a tiny slice of it I’d like to share. A moment in time captured with the iphone. And just so you know, that muck is mud, not pony poop. Well, mostly.
