We drank vodka with heaps of garden mint over ice. The ice melted fast in the heat. So we added more ice. And more vodka.
And the flowers are tweaked and updated. There. Better. More like paintings, less like pretty.
You can see the full set here.
31.5.10
The unpretty flowers of darkness
I baked like I was feeding an orphanage last night. The small gas oven turned the apartment into a larger oven. Everyone lay on their bellies and sweated in the good smell.
We drank vodka with heaps of garden mint over ice. The ice melted fast in the heat. So we added more ice. And more vodka.
And the flowers are tweaked and updated. There. Better. More like paintings, less like pretty.
You can see the full set here.
We drank vodka with heaps of garden mint over ice. The ice melted fast in the heat. So we added more ice. And more vodka.
And the flowers are tweaked and updated. There. Better. More like paintings, less like pretty.
You can see the full set here.
30.5.10
Treasury on the front page of Esty!
One of my latest treasuries "Androgyny: this space has it. Or: this space has neither. Depending" made it to the front page of etsy.com last night. I missed it, but was alerted by a very happy seller who I included. Congrats to all the great creators featured!
A yesterday and my favourite house
Hiking in mud and mist. Kicking rocks through small streams. Multiple showers, multiple naps. Playing music by blowing into a beard. Bourbon.
On the mountain the small pockets of low forest leaves were fluorescent green against the grey mountain. And when you stood under the canopy of bright and looked up, the mist dripped onto your eyelids. So you closed them. But it was still bright and green. Brighter than sunshine even.
There was also more flower editing. This is better; I will show you later. I was getting lost in making them pretty. Pretty flowers are pretty. Pretty flowers are boring. Who was I kidding. Do I care about pretty? Not so much.
So I concentrated on what it is that I do like so much. It's easy to get out of practice with knowing what pleases you. It must come first to the palate.
And although I didn't see this home yesterday, it is my favourite house in my neighbourhood and it would have been fitting that I lay eyes on it. So, here I lay eyes on it. Every inch is painted turquoise. The drain pipes, the wiring, even some of the windows. It's perfect.
On the mountain the small pockets of low forest leaves were fluorescent green against the grey mountain. And when you stood under the canopy of bright and looked up, the mist dripped onto your eyelids. So you closed them. But it was still bright and green. Brighter than sunshine even.
There was also more flower editing. This is better; I will show you later. I was getting lost in making them pretty. Pretty flowers are pretty. Pretty flowers are boring. Who was I kidding. Do I care about pretty? Not so much.
So I concentrated on what it is that I do like so much. It's easy to get out of practice with knowing what pleases you. It must come first to the palate.
And although I didn't see this home yesterday, it is my favourite house in my neighbourhood and it would have been fitting that I lay eyes on it. So, here I lay eyes on it. Every inch is painted turquoise. The drain pipes, the wiring, even some of the windows. It's perfect.
29.5.10
Little sayings: volume two
To set me up for a day of productivity and creativity. My fingers will be happy because they are my fingers and can do what only my fingers can.
If you haven't had a chance to enter the contest, please do so now as it closes tonight. I'll choose the winner on June 1st. The story continues....
If you haven't had a chance to enter the contest, please do so now as it closes tonight. I'll choose the winner on June 1st. The story continues....
28.5.10
A proper good morning
I woke up to the words "smile if you're loved."
I am. And I did.
And those words carried me through the entire day, and I'm sure will serve as reminder during worse days to come.
I am. And I did.
And those words carried me through the entire day, and I'm sure will serve as reminder during worse days to come.
27.5.10
Texture and detail: volume three
A walk in the rain past my favourite country house on the corner with trees and flowers overflowing. Wagon wheels buried in tall grass and a long wooden patio. A man sits in an old wooden chair on the patio -- rain dripping in streams over the eaves in front of his outstretched toes -- reading.
This makes me very happy and makes me wish for a patio with a cover so I could befriend the rain as well.
This makes me very happy and makes me wish for a patio with a cover so I could befriend the rain as well.
26.5.10
Little sayings: volume one
These sometimes help me get through the day. Maybe they can be of assistance ....
25.5.10
WHP GIVEAWAY: two of twelve (clouds!)
If you like this print and would like it to be yours ... it can be.
Last month was a huge success ....
This month: a different print, a different day. A different set of ideas and creativity and personalities (welcome!).
What remains the same is the fact that I'm determined to brighten your room, and I have eleven more chances to do so.
The details:
*The contest will be open for five days: 7AM May 25th until 12PM May 29th.
* The winner will receive the featured 8 x 8 inch print from a joyous me.
* The print is giclee printed on textured canvas
* It will come with a faux-Polaroid white border. Decadent.
* I will choose the winner by judgement and discretion and by playing favourites. Or, by the number my dog's paw lands on.
How to enter:
* In the comments section, submit one sentence to finish the short short story excerpt below. (To read the full up-to-date version of the story, click here!)
* Check back the morning of June 1st for the announcement of the winner.
* I hope it's you.
* There. That's easy.
The excerpt:
"Her fingers shake and she stares at them while they turn the dial to close the element. The gas pops closed. The flame extinguishes, the kettle is silent. She pushes the kettle hard against the back of the stove so the cats on the counter have less a chance to knock it with whisker and tail. The cats adore the flame; it attracts and repels them. Frequently a whisker ignites or an eyebrow lash disappears. They stand there, blinking, then shake their small heads and walk to the other side of the counter to look offended from afar. ____________________________."
So: scribble, please erase little, and submit to me ....
Bonne chance!
[Edit: Comments are now closed. Thank you to all who participated! Please check back the morning of June 1st for the announcement of the winner ... and to read the continuation of the story for next month.]
24.5.10
Oh missus mailman
Your printer comments on the quality of your photographs (as he turns your canvases from one to the next with white gloves on his small hands and sheet after sheet of translucent parchment paper floats down between the prints).
He asks what camera you use and what you did to make just that bit of speckle, that antique tinge. He tells you they "turned out so well."
A comment like this can turn a whole week around.
How tender and delicate it is to begin selling oneself (or portions thereof). And, then, what a vital loop positive feedback is to someone, anyone. Me.
Thank you, Mr. Printer.
And bringing home a fistful of prints, carefully spraying them outside in a light wind, watching them dry on the dresser and making sure the bedroom door is closed so the cats stay out (please and thank you).
And then making the packages, inscribing the envelopes, scoring cardboard, writing the cards, gently attaching a little gift with a small gold paper clip to the carefully wrapped prints, walking to the post office, paying for postage to Bellingham, Toronto, Philadelphia ....
Fulfillment of a practical order. Cheerfully completing steps one through "z". It was a good morning.
A great morning.
He asks what camera you use and what you did to make just that bit of speckle, that antique tinge. He tells you they "turned out so well."
A comment like this can turn a whole week around.
How tender and delicate it is to begin selling oneself (or portions thereof). And, then, what a vital loop positive feedback is to someone, anyone. Me.
Thank you, Mr. Printer.
And bringing home a fistful of prints, carefully spraying them outside in a light wind, watching them dry on the dresser and making sure the bedroom door is closed so the cats stay out (please and thank you).
And then making the packages, inscribing the envelopes, scoring cardboard, writing the cards, gently attaching a little gift with a small gold paper clip to the carefully wrapped prints, walking to the post office, paying for postage to Bellingham, Toronto, Philadelphia ....
Fulfillment of a practical order. Cheerfully completing steps one through "z". It was a good morning.
A great morning.
23.5.10
Texture and detail: volume two
Sleeping with a water glass full of lilac beside my pillow. It smells different in the cold of dead night. More serious somehow; direct and pungent rather than sweet with heat.
A long walk in the morning with music to help me be less shy about photographing people's flowers and sidewalks and fences.
And later, a tennis court. And it begins to rain. The smell of rain on warm cement: nearly as sweet as lilac.
Patterns and designs everywhere.
A long walk in the morning with music to help me be less shy about photographing people's flowers and sidewalks and fences.
And later, a tennis court. And it begins to rain. The smell of rain on warm cement: nearly as sweet as lilac.
Patterns and designs everywhere.
22.5.10
WHP marketing. Say what?
A bottle of Tinhorn Creek, a walk at sunset, leftover chicken tikka and toasted naan. And ruminating about how to approach the endless and very large task of marketing oneself.
This is a start, I suppose.
This is a start, I suppose.
20.5.10
Antique to black and white: volume two
Just the cheeriest little group. I wonder what they were looking at....
19.5.10
A dog for my brother
My brother loves my four animals. He lives very far away and has made a custom request for some visuals. So: these are for him (I know it's only two of the four, but it will have to do for now). Love, me.
18.5.10
From antique to black and white
Rummaging through stacks of old photographs and dust in an antique book dealer's shop is my idea of a romantic afternoon. I've procured single photographs after hours of sifting and sneezing and other times have been gifted stacks of family albums from a stranger's attic.
I have faces on my wall, faded to sepia, of people I don't know. They rest assuredly in brushed white frames in our home. I have more strangers hanging than I do actual blood of my own.
Ages ago I fiddled with some old photographs in post editing until I distilled what I loved about the shot. I wanted to see what was left after I took away the frayed borders, curled edges, yellow tones, and crinkles (made by who's fingers, drawers, children?). Turns out, there's still a lot left (for me).
I have faces on my wall, faded to sepia, of people I don't know. They rest assuredly in brushed white frames in our home. I have more strangers hanging than I do actual blood of my own.
Ages ago I fiddled with some old photographs in post editing until I distilled what I loved about the shot. I wanted to see what was left after I took away the frayed borders, curled edges, yellow tones, and crinkles (made by who's fingers, drawers, children?). Turns out, there's still a lot left (for me).
17.5.10
Texture and detail: volume one
I showered with a spider yesterday. When I saw him, there he was (dangling from the middle of the drain pipe) and the water was already running, and my feet were already wet. There would be no getting out of the shower.
And so, I showered with a spider. Keeping a watchful eye, always. And then, near the end, he lost his grip and spun down the drain. It took ages for him to swirl around the opening ... and then he was gone. And I wondered how long he would live and if it would relate to how long my guilt would last at not saving him.
I've been walking and stopping in front of textures. I love the wide angle, direct shot from above. I hope it will please me always. A simple aesthetic, hard lines, lens curvature. Sometimes, good textures need little. No angles, no lighting. Just a capture, please.
And so, I showered with a spider. Keeping a watchful eye, always. And then, near the end, he lost his grip and spun down the drain. It took ages for him to swirl around the opening ... and then he was gone. And I wondered how long he would live and if it would relate to how long my guilt would last at not saving him.
I've been walking and stopping in front of textures. I love the wide angle, direct shot from above. I hope it will please me always. A simple aesthetic, hard lines, lens curvature. Sometimes, good textures need little. No angles, no lighting. Just a capture, please.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)