ZenCatArtBlog

2007-12-25T22:55:00.000-05:00

Miss Mouse has been hanging on my tree since 1967. Her Santa outfit is made of paper and I have colored it with red markers periodically over 40 years. The ornament behind her is glass and belonged to my Hungarian grandmother. They have both (and others like them) been a part of my life for a very long time. Every Christmas a new one joins the others on this "tree of life." Each one cherished. Marked with the date and giver, carefully wrapped and unwrapped every year. Clearly one of the joys of Christmas for me.

But since moving into this house in CT and not having much room for a tree - I have not taken out these ornaments five Christmases. We've done with smaller trees and dressed them with red balls tied on with red ribbons. They were lovely to look at, and easy to dress and if the new kitten knocked anything off it wasn't a great loss. Everyone complimented the tree but something was lacking...

This year we went to our usual place for a Christmas tree, the Gilbert's tree farm (parents of Elizabeth Gilbert of Eat Pray Love fame). It's also the place where we get our wonderful local honey. This year the tree was just a little bigger.

We put the lights on the tree and went looking for the red balls. They were nowhere to be found. Christmas Eve was fast approaching and reluctantly I gave up the search and dusted off the one of the "old" Christmas boxes that has been patiently waiting in a corner of the basement.

And there in the first box, right on top, peaking out of her tissue paper was Miss Mouse. It was so good to see her! It was like an old friend had come to visit. I danced her around the living room and then placed her in a prominent spot so that I could see her from any seat in the room. I unpacked other old friends and placed them on the tree. Each one evoked another Christmas another time. Each ornament brought another smile to my face.

This is what I had missed, this is what the red tree lacked, friends. Memories. History. One of my friends asked me in an email "what fabulous thing did you get for Christmas?" Well, now I know... I got a visit from a very special mouse.

2007-12-21T22:39:00.000-05:00

The Winter Solstice

The shortest day of the year. My 10th grade Latin is a bit rusty (it was then too) but the word solstice comes from the Latin sol (Sun) and sistere (stand still), Winter Solstice meaning Sun standing still in winter. It’s a lovely image that I embrace – especially tonight. I am finally still.

I finished the quilts I was commissioned to do by Susan St. James as Christmas gifts for her family in memory of the son she lost – Teddy Ebersol. She’s a lovely lady and there was no way I could have refused such a sacred task but it was a bit insane to do six quilts in twelve weeks. Fortunately as the deadline loomed two good friends (Robin Brass & Karen Eckmeier) brought lunch and took up needles and thread and helped me do the last of the hand work. How kind they were and how lovely to sew together!

I packed the last one up on Wednesday morning and delivered the quilts to Susan’s to be opened Christmas morning in their Colorado home. I hope they enjoy them as much as I did.

Here is a picture of Phil holding one of the quilts up - Maggie Mae is very interested:

I took off the rest of the day and met my darling daughter-in-law in Border Books for coffee and Christmas shopping. Our good friend Richard came along to do a bit of shopping for his own and we took time for a buffet lunch in a local Indian restaurant. I couldn’t believe I wasn’t working at the computer or sewing. It was wonderful!

On the way back we passed an old barn that Richard and I have both wanted to photograph. We tried to get a good shot of it but it was hard without telephone wires or cars in the picture. We waited for traffic to clear and scooted out into the road. It was freezing.

The way the ground settled made the buildings lines wavy – just the way I imagine that life well-lived leaves us with some wavy lines but still standing.

I think I will sit still some more, nursing a bit of asthma bronchitis and think more about a life well lived...

and friends like you.

2007-12-13T21:18:00.000-05:00

This is the little birdhouse that sits on my porch. It's mainly decorative by virtue of the fact that no birds have nested in it. The housing market is bad all over.

It was about 10 am when the snow started falling in the gentle rolling hills of Northwest CT. We went out to move our cars in the driveway so that the snow plow could cut a swath from the street to the end of our driveway. By the time the cars in position the snow had started coming down in a hurry.

There was a half inch of the fluffy stuff on our deck in no time. It was soft and light and I could sweep it away with the broom still standing there to sweep off the last of the leaves. Typical of our preparation, our snow shovels were still in the basement. How unlike the snows of my childhood when my dad was in charge.

My father was just as happy as any kid when it snowed even though his drive home from his construction job in NY City might take many times longer than the usual hour and he would have to shovel the snow when he arrived.

And what a shovel Pop had! Not one of those light-weight bright orange ones that are stacked by the dozens in your local supermarket or in super stores screaming their sameness. It was a serious shovel, purchased with consideration for its quality and durability.

The metal scoop looked like the plow on a truck and lifting the shovel without a load of snow would be a strain for me but Pop lifted it like a feather. It cut a path from our Levittown door, down the driveway and into the street. Snow piled up on either side as Pop swung the shovel in the air and snow showered down for the second time.

While Pop worked, I played. I made snowmen with my mother and had snowball fights with the neighborhood kids. We built igloos and forts and snow angels. We stayed out in it until our snowsuits were soaked and our lips were blue. Conditions easily remedied by dry clothes and hot chocolate.

We were kids and it was the best time in life.

So... I didn't build a snowman today or made a snow angel. But I thought about my Dad and enjoyed the snow - even the removal part.

And who knows, there's always tomorrow...

2007-12-11T00:08:00.000-05:00

On the way out this morning - slipping and sliding on my icy driveway - I stopped to take a picture of this tiny rhododendron doing it's best in the rain & chill wind. Nature is so amazing.

"I thank you God for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and for the blue dream of sky and for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes. " ~e.e. cummings

2007-12-03T17:17:00.000-05:00

“I believe that there is a subtle magnetism in Nature, which, if we unconsciously yield to it, will direct us aright.” ~Henry David Thoreau

Phil & I went for a walk in our near by nature preserve on Sunday morning. It had just begun to snow. Every year we try to be there for the first flakes of the season.

It’s a little over a two mile walk around a pond—that includes two bridges and a boardwalk that goes out over the water. It’s our favorite place to walk. It calms us and reminds us we are part of a grander universe and reminds us to be grateful for the day.

2007-11-22T16:52:00.000-05:00

Happy Thanksgiving!

I have so much to be grateful for—family, friends, my kitties and you—but this Thanksgiving I thought I would tip my verbal hat to the man who taught me to be grateful, my Dad. Before my father died on Halloween/ Samhain in 2000 at the ripe old age of 89, he told me that he had never regretted a day in his life and that he never had a morning when he didn’t want to get up and go to work.

For him problems were challenges and tough times not only built character, it showed it. He could fix almost anything. He could captivate an audience telling one of his stories and he listened with the intensity that most people reserve for speaking. And whether I was heading off to grade school, or heading home from visiting him in Florida, his last words were never be careful or take care but have fun. He enjoyed every minute he lived and was grateful for each new day. Have fun was the last thing he ever said to me and it was really good advice. And now I give it to you—have fun. It will give you a lot to be grateful for.

Thanks Pop!

2007-11-21T21:27:00.000-05:00

One year ago today we lost Tommy. We still miss him. This is what I wrote and we still fee this way.

It is with a heavy hearts that we tell you of the loss of one of our best friends – Thomas O’Malley Cat. There are very few people who touched our hearts as much as Tommy touched ours. He had been badly abused when he first came to us and in his infinite wisdom never held it against the rest of humanity for one person’s cruelty. Those of you, who knew him, were aware of his special ability to give comfort to those in need. He sat in more laps being stroked while tears fell on his head than most of us. He touched their hearts as he touched ours. I can not imagine how much we will miss him – the hole he will leave in our lives is enormous. I can only hope to emulate his kindness, his wisdom and his unconditional love. He was an inspiration – more that you would think possible for a mere cat – but he was never ‘mere’ in anything he did or was. And I am grateful that he was part of our family for so long and is now a part of Gods. We (still) love you, Tommy. Mom & Dad, Shayna, Katie, and Maggie Mae.

2007-11-20T08:54:00.000-05:00

Snow in CT.

I wait for this every year - the first snow. I realize that snow isn't popular everywhere or with everyone but I love it.

So I went out this morning and did my happy snow dance around the snowy pumpkin on my porch.

I scared the chickadees at the feeder but they'll get used to me - weird human - celebrating what makes her happy.

Enjoy!

2007-09-15T12:13:00.000-04:00

I’m taking a course at the Washington Art Association with Banjie Nicholas, a wonderful “nature” artist that specializes in silverpoint and egg tempera. I’m fascinated by her soft drawings and paintings of birds and butterflies, dragonflies and feathers, all things to make you smile.

I know nothing at all about silverpoint and have been aching to get back to some artwork on a regular basis (nothing like homework as an excuse to leave the beds unmade and slip off to the studio) so this provides a wonderful opportunity. So just to keep me honest and working I’ve decided to post my explorations into this new medium.
Here’s the first day’s drawings and wonderful moth Banjie provided. I think that she raises them. (Karen, these are your colors!)

The drawing that looks like light pencil is the silver point. The drawing underneath it is colored pencil that didn’t work very well because the watercolor paper was too bumpy – even with the light layer of gouache paint that coats the page to help the silver point adhere. The right side is watercolors – trying to match the moth and our slightly wind damaged friend.

Here's a link to Banjie's site, such beautiful work it worth a look! Banjie Nicholas

2006-10-09T12:20:00.000-04:00

Sunday, October 8, 2006

Doll Workshop – Part 4

Going home on Saturday night was worth the trip just for the sunrise over the lake I pass on Route 44. The fog was lifting and the sky began to glow peach and rose. I could have stood there for hours but my elf-fairy was waiting and I was anxious to see her take form.

We were greeted by coffee and Donna’s smiling face. we checked the hands and feet we made yesterday and prepared to make our doll bodies.

This is one of the Elvin-boots that Jack made. Mine were almost as good – well – sorta kinda.

Here we are with our body stockings and a pile of stuffing (we used all of that stuffing and more). The wire armature is inside the stocking and we put the stuffing in around it.

We’re mostly stuffed and now have to sculpt the body. We had some big decisions to make. Male or female, child or adult, fat or skinny – so many choices. We started with butts – the discussion lightened the mood – and moved on to breasts. My lady elf was definitely up for “perky” and we needed a few more darts for that (it should be so easy in real life). Tummies, waist size, and dowager humps were considered. After slenderizing my elf, I passed on the chocolate cake after lunch. Once the body was shaped we started to assemble our dolls.

Jack putting boots on Debbie’s Indian:

Next came the hands:

Here’s a picture of him sitting on the edge of the table. The little picture is of Debbie sculpting his head.

By the way, Debbie is a fantastic bear maker. Check out on her website www.stewartstudios.com or at her eBay auctions – search on eBay for seller “BearsofStewartStudios”.

This is Ellie and “grandpa.” We really wanted her to make grandpa anatomically correct but she wasn’t having it. What a sweetie she is!

Ellie won Jack’s demo head and hand. Lucky Ellie!

Our group with our dolls.

Diane, Debbie, me, Ellie, Gerri, Karen and Jack’s in the back.

We had a great time and really learned an enormous amount about doll making. We’ll have to dress them in appropriate costumes and pose them to tell their story and start the next doll before we forget the details of what we had done.

Jack was fabulous and I would recommend a workshop with him to anyone who is interested in doll making. He gives all the information you need to get started – delivered in a professional but easy-going manner. He answered all our questions, silly and serious and encouraged all of us wherever we were in the artistic process. Even if you never make another doll, you’ll have a good time and a new appreciation for dolls and the process of making them.

"Humans. They are a little scary, but..."

2006-10-08T23:27:00.000-04:00

Saturday, October 7, 2006

Doll Workshop - Part 3

Saturday saw us gathered bright eyed and bushy tailed ready to start hands and feet. It seems to me that since I have had two of each for 50 plus years that I would be familiar enough with them to aid in the process of sculpting them. One would think that until one tied.

Jack made it as easy for us as any teacher could and watching him work was amazing. He could turn five sausages into a graceful hand with his own dexterous digits quick as a flash. A tiny upturned index finger and my boy elf became a girl. Tilt the palm back and it becomes an action pose, tilt them forward and the hand is passive and at rest.

Hands male and female, hands young and old, there is enormous expression in just moving a pinky finger a fraction of an inch. Bake the clay and the hand and its expression is frozen in time.

Then we made the shoes and much like clothes, shoes make the person – cowboy boots, Elvin slippers, high-heals and ballet toe shoes. We sculpted, baked and painted. In the course of our day an American Indian, a grand-father, a girl child and a Victorian lady started to take form.

It took all of Saturday to bring form to these expressions of humanness. These pieces of our bodies – the hands do our work, caress our lovers and hold our children. The feet with which we take our first steps and then skip, and run, and dance – carrying us on our journey through a lifetime.

And my Elvin-fairy whispered to me “don’t be afraid.”

Tomorrow we would, as they say in the business seminars, tie it all together but tonight I will be going home. There is no internet access in the Best Western I stayed in on Friday night and the Yankees are loosing so I am heading home to my own bed and my husband and my kitties and to post last nights musings and some pictures.

2006-10-07T22:49:00.000-04:00

Friday, October 06, 2006

Doll Workshop – Part 2

I leave at 6:30 AM for Westfield, MA from Litchfield, CT – a trip that mapquest says should take 1 hour and 18 minutes. I am treated to a spectacular purple, orange-pink sunrise and enjoying some classical music and thinking all is right with the world. When I hit Panera Bread in Canton I figure that I’m about halfway and I stop for one of their yummy bagels and a really good cup of coffee. I’m heading for three days of art and I’m a happy camper.

This is usually when the author pauses and you know something is coming… the Chinese fortune cookie version of it is “he who believes mapquest’s circuitous route often goes in circles.” I pull up at the workshop slightly nauseous with three minutes to spare.

We gather downstairs in the workroom/studio of a charming doll maker Donna Sabonis (see Donna’s Children for her wonderful dolls). Donna’s house is absolutely delightful with a doll in every nook and corner. There are large sliding glass doors looking out onto the back lawn, coffee and goodies in the adjoining room and five other expectant faces besides mine. We are here to make dolls.

I have fairly good eye-hand coordination. I’m a good quilter, fabric artist, and painter. I’ve taught people how to make Tiffany lamps, how to bind books and how to make teeny-tiny little stitches.

Making dolls is hard.

First of all, it isn’t intuitive. Heads are round balls right? So you roll a ball of clay and put eyes in it. Well, not exactly… You have to make the back of the head first and bake the clay so you have something to hold on to when you are sculpting the face. And you don’t put eyes “in” – you put them under the clay and start with a tiny slit (think newborn kittens just opening their eyes) and you work that slit into brow ridges, eye lids and tear ducts. Chins get added on. Noses get pinched into being and mouths get pushed and prodded into smiles and frowns. Ears are far more complicated than you would expect for things hiding on the side of your head and must line up between the eyebrow and the mouth and sit back the same distance as the distance between the nose and the chin – or was the same distance as the width of the palm. Ah… have to look that one up later. Then comes the top of the head and the neck goes on last.

This is all done while holding it carefully so as not to smush the parts you think you have all ready finished – that is until you have another look at it and realize your Victorian Lady has a nose like a prize fighter or your Santa is looking a touch effeminate. Which I secretly believe is how Mrs. Santa came into being.

Here’s Jack working on one of the heads:

Close-up – a bit blurry but you can get the idea:

The beginning of my doll’s head – on Jack’s doll making book – he was going to be a Father Christmas but I’m thinking more of a girl elf now:

My head after a little help from Jack…

Yes, it is better. No, I am not discouraged. I’ll save that for tomorrow when we do hands and feet.

2006-10-05T09:45:00.000-04:00

The Doll Workshop – Part One

I’m afraid of dolls.

Ok, some of you are going to scoff at this but some of you will know exactly where I am coming from. When I said I was going to take a Doll Making workshop some of you shuttered and grimaced. Was it because we are afraid of them turning into “Bride of Chucky” or was it from that episode of Twilight Zone where the doll killed the father? Or is it the blank staring eyes that say “beware of Betsey Wetsey”. (That dates me!)

So among my collection of a hundred or so Teddy bears and Beany Babies there are no dolls. Well, one doll, soft sculpture doll dressed in a Hungarian folk outfit that belonged to my mother. She is tiny and packed in the back of my lingerie draw with my mother’s bible as an amulet – just in case she gets rowdy.

So why am I taking a class in making dolls? First, it is a Santa doll that we are making and Santa’s are fairly benign as dolls go. Although I am sure that they will release the new fall hit movie “Santa Dolls that ate CT” or is that “Night of the Living Santas” as soon as I bring this doll home, I’m willing to take the chance.
This is why.

This lovely charming sweet faerie sold on eBay for $3052.00. It’s absolutely magnificent and the 12 other photos (that I won’t load, I’m probably violating by posting this one is enough) show the beauty of this – if I might use the word – doll.

Could I ever make a doll like this? Maybe after 20 years of dedicating myself to this art but I doubt it. But I would sure like to try.

Here is the URL to another one of her artdolls on eBay – a gypsy fortune teller. Check it out. The expertise of the artwork will make your day. Click here on FaerieLady.

So I am off tomorrow to Westfield, MA to take a doll workshop with master doll maker, Jack Johnson, (http://www.artdolls.com/). His work is spectacular! Check out his gallery, if you are interested – some of his protégé have very interesting work posted as well. I am going to learn how to sculpt heads and hands and feet, make soft sculpt bodies and sew clothes. He says that I will be able to finish a Santa in the three day workshop.

Jack is a soft-spoken delightful man and I’m counting on him to protect us if any of the dolls should go chucky. Do you think they will notice the cloves of garlic hanging around my neck?

2006-10-03T22:12:00.000-04:00

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

My father was a story teller; a raconteur. When he told a story his audience leaned forward, they hung on his words, they waited expectantly for the punch line and they weren’t disappointed. He didn’t do it to be the center of attention. He merely loved a good story and he could tell one.

I thought of him when I was in India. He would have loved it. India had stories, lots of them. Exotic sights and sounds made it an interesting story to tell. Writing a blog about my trip helped me be present in every moment – to taste the flavors, inhale the fragrance, cherish the moments – aware of the story I was part of and wanted to tell.

I didn’t want being there or telling the story to end.

But there are stories in our everyday lives that are worth sharing and I would like to tell some of mine. They will be about the things I love most – my art, my life, my father – pieces of the present, pieces of the past. I hope you will enjoy them and I hope my father will be reading over my shoulder.
Join me. Write back. Cherish the moments.