I went garbage picking tonight. Dug through the kitchen trash (eeww eeww double eeww). Earlier in the day I reacted like a normal person when confronted by Sophie’s latest treasure–an outgrown lizard skin tucked between the sofa cushions…I mean, really… I picked it up with a paper towel because I was not going to touch it with my precious hands and then I tossed it without a second thought.
Before we go any farther, I need to inform you of the correct prononciation of ‘lizard’. It’s ‘yee-zard’. Okay? From one of my kids, a long time ago. It’s a mom thing.
Now, back to the story.
Sometime after dinner I had an artistic AHA! moment. Or, in Homer Simpson speak, “D’oh!” Lizard skin! Mixed media! WAX!!! Mental whack upside the head. Hense the trash picking. By this time it was all the way on the bottom. With lots of disgusting things on top. But I got ’em…with my bare precious hands.
Now I’ve got to figure out the best way to wax him. I’ll experiment and let you know. If you care.
Meanwhile, here’s what I did in the studio today. I went down there fully intending to clean but…oh well, another day. These were begun earlier, each one has multiple, multiple layers. Are they done yet? No, there’s always some tweaking. The photos aren’t the best but you get the general idea.
This one is about 12 X 16 I’m thinking it wants one more coat of natural beeswax to tone down the blue. But maybe not. Have to live with it first. It’s on a plaster base over a cradled board. Lots of texture in the base.
This one is 6X6. Has multiple layers of crumpled paper, tissue paper, gold leaf, wax. Oh, and oil paint.
Made stew tonight. Forgot the bay leaf. FORGOT THE BAY LEAF!!!
Forgot the freakin’ bay leaf.
But it was GOOD. In fact, I never would’ve known…if I hadn’t already known, that there was no bay leaf in the stew.
So what is a bay leaf anyway? What magical flavor does it impart if I couldn’t even tell it was missing?
And since you asked (you were going to, you know) here is my recipe for beef stew.
Susan’s Beef Stew
Shoot a cow. Remove a pound or two of stew meat. Do something with the rest so as not to be wasteful. Apologize to it’s mother and feel remorseful. Tell yourself you’ll go vegan in a few days. Then don’t do it.
Coat the meat in flour. Brown over low heat with some olive oil. Feel absolutely no remorse for squeezing those little olives until they burst. They can’t feel anything…or can they? Tell yourself you’ll never eat olives again. Now get back to cooking.
Remove meat from pan, add more olive oil and brown (not brown brown, just cook) a couple of chopped onions. When onions are nice and perfect the way you like them…
throw in most of a small can, the little bitty size can, of tomato paste.
and some beef broth.
and some red wine. wine is good. add some more.
add a handful of thyme leaves. some salt and fresh ground pepper. garlic powder because you forgot to chop garlic with the onion. DO NOT ADD BAY LEAF OR YOU WILL GO TO HELL (just kidding…)
mix it all up, bring to a low boil and toss in the meat.
set oven to simmer, partially cover and walk away. tell someone else to stir every 15 minutes while you go do something else.
come back in a couple of hours. congratulate helpers for not burning the stew or the house. add some red potatoes and baby carrots.
go away again but make sure the helpers are still on board.
give it a half hour, forty minutes for the potatoes and carrots to cook. add a bag of frozen string beans because really, do you have the time to deal with fresh vegetables tonight? didn’t think so… this is a good place for more wine. have a glass and/or dump some in the stew.
start warning people dinner is ready in 10 minutes.
tell mr. spouse he doesn’t need to watch the rest of the show on the history channel, we know who won that war.
dish up. serve with sourdough baguette and butter. because there aren’t enough fat and carbs in the stew.
eat it again tomorrow night.
by the third night, add some more wine and broth. throw in some barley. call it soup.
Or, What if They Gave a Wedding and Somebody ATE the Bride???
I’m sitting here at the kitchen table doing my best to tune out the mayhem in the living room. I. Do. NOT. Want. To. Know…the details.
Sophie caught a mouse tonight. THE mouse. The one that’s been getting into everything. Pooping on the kitchen counter. Pooping pooping POOPING EVERYWHERE. Gnawing on everything gnawable. And some things that aren’t gnawable. And pooping that stuff out too.
I was doing the dinner dishes when I saw her (yes, Miss Mousie is a her because I have declared it so) I saw her out of the corner of my eye, a dark shadow racing from the pantry to the fridge. I yelled and stomped and made scary human noises because I just want her to go away, go outside . I will even feed her outside, make a nice warm nest for her if she will only go THERE and not HERE.
But she didn’t listen. She went back to the pantry where Sophie cornered her behind the (rodent proof) dog food containers. I saw her cowering there and all my mom instincts kicked in. I WANTED TO SAVE HER!!! And then Sophie made a move and Miss Mousie made a move right towards me and I did what they do in the movies–what they do in the cartoons–I jumped out of the way and SCREAMED.
Screamed like a girl.
Then I ran out of the pantry. There was a scuffle behind me. When I turned to look, Sophie was standing there with a tail hanging out of her mouth.
It was not her tail.
She trotted off to the living room, growling at anyone who came near. Growling with her mouth full. With a hairless little tail dangling beneath her chin. This was her first kill and she was not going to share. She spit her prize out by the sofa and that’s when I realized the poor thing was still alive.
Oh crap.
I grabbed some paper towels thinking I’d catch Miss Mousie and take her outside so she could die in peace, carried off from this world (this harsh, cruel world) on the wings of mouse angels.
Because surely she was dying, right?
What the hell do I know… Next to nothing about revival of the fittest. EFFING RODENT made a spontaneous recovery and a successful dash for the safety of under-the-sofa-land. Sophie is beside herself. No matter how much she tries, Sophie can’t fit under the sofa.
But she can bark at it. And growl. And make scrabbling sounds on the wood floor as she scurries from one end to the other. She’s been doing that for, oh, a good two hours now. Won’t even stop for her pre-bed potty break…which is not a good thing.
I can handle a puppy potty accident, lord knows it wouldn’t be the first.
But I really–I mean REALLY–don’t want to wake up with a dead mouse in my bed. Or worse–a live one.
“It took me four years to paint like Raphael but a lifetime to paint like a child.” Pablo Picasso
I spent my early art career years as an illustrator, a time when I could render anything with near photographic precision. When my kids were little I moved on to portraits, mostly because I loved painting their beautiful little faces.
But I didn’t love painting other people’s faces, that was work. Inner Critic weighed heavy on my shoulder. If you’re not familiar with Inner Critic then stop reading this right now and go make something spectacular–because there’s nothing stopping you. Really. Go away now. Shoo!
But, if you’re like any number of creatives and have this weight on your shoulder, this little voice in your head, this invisible something bitch-slapping your ego whenever you walk in the studio–then read on.
Because Ingrid has something to say.
Ingrid is my niece–okay, my great niece, but that makes me sound old. And I’m not old.
Ingrid is a hunter of monkeys. And a discoverer of unicorns. A child who sees the world, well…through a child’s eyes. With no apologies.
She’s three years old and you can learn something from her. The painting up above? That’s Rapunzel. With pink hair. Ingrid made this right around her third birthday. Which blows me away because not only does she have all the facial features–including ears–she’s got them pretty much where they’re supposed to be.
But where are the arms? WHO CARES? Ingrid KNOWS she forgot them. She pointed that out herself and said she would add them after her nap.
After her nap. The wisdom of the universe condensed to three little words.
Which shows this child has her priorities straight.
I’m going to have a chat with Inner Critic today. Maybe bribe her with some chocolate. Or zonk her out with a meditation. Or just tell her to go to hell. Then I’m going down to the studio and I’m going to paint. Not going to think about it. Not going to analyze it. Just going to heat up some wax, tear up some paper and HAVE FUN.
