Oh my sweetums, I am recovering, RECOVERING, from Open Studios…by killing myself with COOKIES.
But they are very GOOD cookies. Filled with things like butter, eggs and flour. Walnuts!!! And oatmeal! Raisins! Cranberries! And CHOCOLATE CHIPS!!!
And I’m storing them for safe keeping in my tummy. Tomorrow they will meander over to my hiney where they will stay until I put on a Village People CD and dance them off.
Unless I exploded before that. BOOM!!! Because there’s only so much sugar and carbs a belly can hold until they take on qualities similar to that of military grade weapons. And if the rumblings are any indication, I’m reaching critical mass right now.
If I survive the night, if the house doesn’t fall down around our ears while we sleep, I. Will. Repent.
But that’s tomorrow. Let me tell you about Open Studios. Which was today and last weekend.
Well, it was my first OS in years and years and YEARS. And it was a pretty good one. Sold a couple of big ticket paintings as well as some little stuff.
'Dunes' by Susan Lobb Porter
'Summer' by Susan Lobb Porter
Crappy photo alert for ‘Summer’. Sorry about that, the good photo is in the other computer and I’m too bloated with cookies to properly fetch it for you.
Back to OS…I raised some money for the local animal shelter with some prints. Met some nice people, got a couple pages of names for my list. In between customers I experimented with my new printer. Found the perfect paper to reproduce my encaustic paintings. Perfection. Absolute Perfection. I would tell you except the notes are out in the studio and I’m not running out there right now. You’ll have to trust me on this. The encaustic is reproduced so well you’ll want to EAT them. I’ll be posting more info on those prints on my FB page. If you haven’t like my FaceBook page yet, oh my goodness, do it RIGHT NOW so you won’t miss out on all the excitement.
Oh, speaking of my FaceBook page, October 15 is the date for the ‘Red Door Challenge’. A couple weeks ago I posted a photo for anyone and everyone to use as inspiration for a painting. If you’ve done anything be sure to post it on my FB page wall (link up above). I’ll be posting my own creation as well. Be sure to share on your own wall, tag and all that stuff. I would love to get lots of people to take part in this.
And be sure to keep your eye out for the next challenge!
Open Studios Tour is coming up! Oh, indeed it is, first two weekends of October. This is where I plug the event and tell you if you live anywhere in the western hemisphere northern California, and do not come, I will personally TP your house!
Trust me, I learned from the best, having raised my very own delinquent. Had FirstBorn paid as much attention to his grades as he did the price of toilet paper, he’d be a BRAIN SURGEON by now.
But back to the Studio Tour…. Got a little more than three weeks to get things in order. I’m not worried about the art, got paintings coming out my ears right now. Seriously. Lots of art. But of course I’ll probably get in a frenzy the week before and crank out paint my bum off.
It’s the housekeeping that has me a wee bit, umm… well, see for yourself.
The exterior of the new! improved! Studio Grande is still a construction zone. Tar paper and stucco screen are waiting for the stones to go up. And they will, at least on the front, in the next couple of weeks. Mr. Spouse does stonework but for this, for rock and brick that gets walked under, for this we’re hiring a real mason. YAY!!! I’ll be posting photos of the process, and a conversation or two about all the amazing arty things you can do with cement. Meanwhile you can see some of Grant Weiss’ work here.
I spent the afternoon dealing with construction debris. Bagging up what I could. And then I decided to get a start on the patio I plan on putting in just a little uphill from the wall of windows.
See this? One dead oak and a bunch of construction stuff. Well, by the first weekend in October it will ALL be gone. And if the gods of patio construction are with me, there may even be a patio! At least a clear, level place to put a couple of chairs.
And look! It wasn’t all about garbage bags and recycling cardboard. I got a couple bins of stomped-on-squished-down-tight kindling for winter.
OMG!!! I just remembered I bought some chocolate chocolate chip ice cream to reward my sweaty labor.
OMG! OMG! OMG! I’m outta here. It’s been real but I believe I hear someone calling my name. From the freezer. But I’ll be back in a couple of days. And I’m sure there’ll be some more photos.
Early this morning, I mean early, like around 4 when it’s still black as pitch, I stood out on the front porch in my jammies. Jammies in this case being a euphemism for an old T-shirt and finest kind panties from JC Penny. Standard romantic sleepwear after thirty years of marriage.
I stood out there scaring off THE BEAR.
And why would I be doing that?
Because for sure he’d knocked over the recycle can, a bin nearly as tall and far broader than I. It’d been the sound of crashing bottles and cans that woke me up. Then he moved on to the garbage. We’ve done this drill before. He’d rip open the bags, drag them who knows where, leaving a trail of yucky things I’d have to clean up later in the day. Damn bear. Worse than kids when it comes to making a mess.
So as soon as I heard the recycle go, I was out of bed in a flash. I flipped on the driveway lights, stood on the porch and…well, how does one scare off a bear?
Easy peasy. If the sudden glare of the lights and the sight of me in my Penneys panties wasn’t enough for Mr. B, I clapped my hands. Five sharp claps.
He answered through the darkness, a few gutteral grunts.
I clapped again. He grunted again.
And then I went back to bed. Because, really, what else could I do? I rolled in beside Mr. Spouse and told him all about my adventures. He grabbed the blanket, rolled over the other way, muttered something about bears. And then he snored.
But in his own way, I’m sure he was quite impressed.
And after breakfast I restocked the recycle bin, located the remains of the garbage about fifty feet from the scene of the crime, put on some gloves and cleaned up the mess left by Ursus Americanus. And I do hope he enjoyed the turkey burger, the one that spent a couple hours ripening in a hot car on a hot day before finding its way to the trash.
Now, to the age old question, does a bear chit in the woods, the answer is well, I’m sure the one who ate nearly ten pounds of pony psyllium does.
But that was another bear. Another adventure.
And now I’m off to Studio Grande to design my new business cards, paint and have a most productive arty life kind of day.
Have a great weekend! And if you didn’t spend the morning cleaning up someone else’s mess, dearest sweetums, then consider yourself ahead of the game.
Conjecture # 1: Someone with a history of maiming and killing laptops by way of liquid would learn her lesson after the first time. Or the second.
Fact # 3: She did not.
Conjecture # 2: Third time’s the charm, eh?
Fact # 4: Damn straight, Spanky!
Arty Life will be back in a couple of days, after an appropriate period of mourning…and a new laptop. Unless, of course, the old one pulls a Lazarus and rises from the dead. Which would suit me fine.
Six PM. One hundred degrees. I’m in the hay shed, wrestling with a forty pound sack of beet pulp, trying to find the secret to the magic string, the one that’s supposed to open the bag easy-peasy.
No dice. I end up going after that sucker with a pair of scissors, one stich at a time. Because if I just cut the bag, like I’m tempted to do, the woven plastic unravels, comes undone and I end up serving shredded beet pulp with a side of shredded plastic to the ponies. Which wouldn’t be good. So I clip each and every stitch. It’s a slow process. I’m stinky, sweaty and impatient. I tell myself it’s not so bad, things could be worse.
And they could. I could be at the county fair. With children. Hot, tired, li’l darlin’s cranked out on sugar, demanding more. More, more, more, more, MORE. Of everything! NOW! Eventually their whines becoming indistinguishable from the rest of the cacophony inside my head which includes (but is not limited to) country music played at a volume guaranteed to homogenize your brains and a couple of Sumo wrestlers tossing each other around somewhere between my right temple and the left.
All in 100 degree heat. That’s 37.7777777 degrees to those of you who measure these things in celsius. When the thermometer goes that high, it’s legal to kill. Well, it seems like it should be. Anyone you want. Especially if you’re at the fair.
Mwha-ha-ha-ha. And that’s when I know, without a doubt…and without trying to inject any theology in here, there IS a God…because my kids are all grown up and I don’t have to take them to the fair any more.
Sweet Diety, thank you!
Now before you think I wear my cranky pants during fair week, the biggest social event of the county, let me assure you I have nothing against going… on my own terms. Which means it has to be cool. Or at least not hot. I go by myself. Bring my camera. And I wander around like a crazy lady talking to myself and eating caramel popcorn and funnel cake while taking lots and lots of photographs. I run into friends and we chat but I don’t feel obligated to look at the goats with them. Or the chickens. Or the man selling Vitamix blenders. No, no, no…I just do what I want.
Here’s a few photos from years past.
So there you have it. Rides, games, Food. Anti-gravity kids losing retainers. And the craziness builds up and up and morphs into holy crap! Demon cartoon birds guaranteed to haunt your dreams…if you’re lucky enough to pop the balloon.
And now, because this post wouldn’t be complete without them, let’s SUUUUUUU-MO!!!
Her name is Jasmine June. A lovely name. But the kids used to call her Mom’s Hairy Ass. And this week I spent a lot of time scratching MHA in that special spot right between the shoulder blades, the place that no amount of tree rubbing can satisfy. It went a long way towards taking her mind off her hurt.
She had an abscess in her hoof. Not the first, probably not the last. I knew when I adopted her over a dozen years ago she had bad feet. Just part of who she is, I guess.
She spent the week hobbling around on three legs, or lying down. Obviously in a lot of pain. But pain meds don’t relieve an abscess…don’t even touch it… and the vet couldn’t relieve it either. It wasn’t organized enough. He did as much hackin’ ‘n hewin’ as he could, packed the hoof with a poultice, made a duct tape bootie and asked if I had anyone to help me when it came time to change the dressing. Which was fairly often.
Well, it turns out I didn’t have anyone to help me. So I decided to do it by myself. And I did. Just walked up to her in the paddock and did it right there out in the open, without tying her or anything. She could’ve hobbled away if she wanted. She could’ve given me a decent kick. But she didn’t.
You have to know Jasmine to know what a miracle this is.
She’s a donkey. ‘Nuf said. But this week, she was a princess. She knew, despite her pain and the annoying things I was doing to her foot, she KNEW I was helping her. And she co-operated 100%.
She’s much better today. Looks like things came to a head. YAY!
Even if my hands will never smell the same…
And now…news from the studio.
This weekend Mr. Spouse made stairs to nowhere. In a few weeks they’ll connect with the sidewalk that will lead to the door.
Eventually, maybe even this week, I’ll begin packing up the construction debris.
I’ve been playing with art journaling lately. Fun. fun. fun stuff!
And as for the new! improved! Studio Grande, well, it’s beginning to look like a place where art is made.
YAY!!!
Back in a few days, my best beloved sweetums! Now go out and make some art. Or hug someone. Better yet, do both!
