31.8.10
Art and electronics
Hello little piece of WHP art on the back of my iPhone. Saying hello to strangers and telemarketers is now so much more pleasant.
30.8.10
On leftover sonnets
Waking early to the dog howling upstairs and the rhythm of Shakespeare in my head. Get me an espresso.
29.8.10
Twilight on the ocean
Light fading against the sea and tree branches dipping and drying with the waves. A gull pulls apart the remains of a crab and the dogs look on longingly.
28.8.10
27.8.10
25.8.10
WHP giveaway: five of twelve (a burnt retina)
Enter to win this 8 x 8 giclee print of a WHP fine art print. Printed on thick textured canvas (hello lover) with faux-polaroid borders (well, aren't we contemporary). It looks mighty fine floating in a large frame.
This month: A ghostly forest on fire in the middle of a field.
To win:
* The contest is open for five days: 7AM Aug. 25th - 12AM Aug. 29th.
* You can live anywhere to enter. I will ship to you free of charge.
* In the comments section, submit one sentence to finish the story excerpt below. (To read the full up-to-date version of the story, click here.)
* Be sure to leave your email information along with your sentence.
* For an extra chance to win, become a follower of this blog. But only if you like, please.
* Check back the morning of September 1st for the announcement of the winner.
* Hello delightful.
The excerpt:
"Waiting for mail to arrive can be delicious and it can be torture. She waters the plants (their trays overflow and the soiled water turns the carpet dark), she cuts her hair (even, it is never even), and she reads in the garden (the pages turn forward and turn backward…it’s hard to understand words when preoccupied). Five days, no mail. She lets the cats assault the postman and her eyebrows fall each time he passes with a bag full of letters and none for her. ____________________________."
So: scribble, please erase little, and submit to me ....
[Comments are now closed. Thank you to everyone who participated! Check back on the morning of September 1st for the announcement of the winner ... and please feel free to enter in the upcoming giveaway at the end of September. xo, WHP]
This month: A ghostly forest on fire in the middle of a field.
To win:
* The contest is open for five days: 7AM Aug. 25th - 12AM Aug. 29th.
* You can live anywhere to enter. I will ship to you free of charge.
* In the comments section, submit one sentence to finish the story excerpt below. (To read the full up-to-date version of the story, click here.)
* Be sure to leave your email information along with your sentence.
* For an extra chance to win, become a follower of this blog. But only if you like, please.
* Check back the morning of September 1st for the announcement of the winner.
* Hello delightful.
The excerpt:
"Waiting for mail to arrive can be delicious and it can be torture. She waters the plants (their trays overflow and the soiled water turns the carpet dark), she cuts her hair (even, it is never even), and she reads in the garden (the pages turn forward and turn backward…it’s hard to understand words when preoccupied). Five days, no mail. She lets the cats assault the postman and her eyebrows fall each time he passes with a bag full of letters and none for her. ____________________________."
So: scribble, please erase little, and submit to me ....
[Comments are now closed. Thank you to everyone who participated! Check back on the morning of September 1st for the announcement of the winner ... and please feel free to enter in the upcoming giveaway at the end of September. xo, WHP]
24.8.10
22.8.10
WHP art subscription. One helluva deal.
I want you to have new WHP pieces as soon as I create them. I want your walls and your insides to be reminded of beauty once a month. At the very least once a month.
If you're anything like me with subscriptions, you'll soon forget you subscribed at all and then once a month you'll have a lovely surprise package awaiting on your stoop. What a nice way to welcome each new month....
Presently, the subscriptions are based on the following: I send you one never before seen 8 x 8 Hahnamuhle print each month for twelve months to whatever or whomever's address you supply me. You receive a welcome gift with your first month's print.
If this is a gift subscription for someone else, please specify when ordering, and I will include a few extra descriptive inclusions with the first month's mailing so your loved one will know what the what.
One entire year of sharing art. And for what I'm charging, I should be committed. Let's just say the monthly breakdown for this unique subscription is about on par with what I spend daily on caffeine.
Read more about it and subscribe here.
If you're anything like me with subscriptions, you'll soon forget you subscribed at all and then once a month you'll have a lovely surprise package awaiting on your stoop. What a nice way to welcome each new month....
Presently, the subscriptions are based on the following: I send you one never before seen 8 x 8 Hahnamuhle print each month for twelve months to whatever or whomever's address you supply me. You receive a welcome gift with your first month's print.
If this is a gift subscription for someone else, please specify when ordering, and I will include a few extra descriptive inclusions with the first month's mailing so your loved one will know what the what.
One entire year of sharing art. And for what I'm charging, I should be committed. Let's just say the monthly breakdown for this unique subscription is about on par with what I spend daily on caffeine.
Read more about it and subscribe here.
21.8.10
New work and a wish for healing
Intention. If only we could see past one another's facades and efforts and distractions and see straight to the intention of the person. And if only we could see our own intention clearly and match it in action honestly. The people I know who do this well and do this frequently are some of my favourite people to be around.
Why guess when you can know.
Why guess when you can know.
20.8.10
19.8.10
New work and good things alone
Peach pie. A breeze. Hot tea. Being creative with a dear friend. Packaging orders. Details. Working on the couch so the dogs can bookend me.
18.8.10
The goodness here
Every once in a while a moment in my present reminds me of something from my past.
I pause to place from where. Far far far back I go. To the beginning of imagining love and trust and contentment. Back when I was small and young and naive and trying on ways of being and practicing what it would be to have fires inside.
What forces it takes to bring about a reality that mimics imagination from a decade ago.
I pause to place from where. Far far far back I go. To the beginning of imagining love and trust and contentment. Back when I was small and young and naive and trying on ways of being and practicing what it would be to have fires inside.
What forces it takes to bring about a reality that mimics imagination from a decade ago.
16.8.10
New work and water water water
I've used the hose, the river, the shower, and a wet towel. I'm still sweating. Other than sleeping and working, I love the sticky heat.
15.8.10
Starfish and seahorses
Lake water. Wet skin. Balancing on a tree underwater. The light reflecting off itself and back again against the tree tops. Bagpipes over the calm. Laughter filtering. Pruned parts. Sun setting and submerging and rising to find it lower still. Happy, for once, to have water stuck inside my ears.
14.8.10
13.8.10
New work and poor woman's paella
Working late and cutting poster after poster to the disgrace of my hand muscles is not so bad when there is a man three feet away cooking a hefty spicy meal and pouring me vodka over ice. He makes brown rice taste like magic. I make brown rice that tastes like ... brown rice.
10.8.10
Since I can't stand the acronym, here it is in long form: BUY ONE GET ONE people.
I've been a consistent lover of printing on thick canvas. But I've been cheating on dear old canvas with Hahnemuhle, my pretty new friend. We're taking it slow ... starting with the coarse felt artist paper and then moving upwards to see how thick my printer can take it.
Sigh. Hello saturation. Hello smudging ink because I can't keep my fingers off of the fresh and textured pages.
And in celebration, I'm offering two for one prints over at my shop on all 8 x 8-inch faux-Polaroid Hahnemuhle prints. If you don't see the print you love, message me. Me and Hahnemuhle can make anything. Especially now that I can say its name without slurring.
Sigh. Hello saturation. Hello smudging ink because I can't keep my fingers off of the fresh and textured pages.
And in celebration, I'm offering two for one prints over at my shop on all 8 x 8-inch faux-Polaroid Hahnemuhle prints. If you don't see the print you love, message me. Me and Hahnemuhle can make anything. Especially now that I can say its name without slurring.
New work and tables on terraces
Eating outdoors with wine warming quickly and meat cooling fast and flies landing on your corn and sharing the butter dish between friends and losing the outline of one another's faces when the light goes and watching the silhouette of the trees come forward and using the back of your hand to wipe your mouth and sucking the pepper off the meat to hand to the dogs under the table and scraping the plate again and again. There's something to that.
8.8.10
Even the puddles
Walking through the forest in the first rains in a month. No hood, no jacket. The only thing I was carrying was the intent to get wet.
7.8.10
Finally, a wind
A film outside by the edge of the water. The only other lights: drooping from the bridge leading into the forest that begins downtown. The wind picks up. The red in the sky is lost. And finally, there is a touch of cool to our skin that does not come from water or fan.
6.8.10
Crows in the sky (darkening, yes)
The crows arc as mist across the sky; moving as one and blocking access to what lies beyond. Across countless highways and fields. Back and forth at dusk and dawn. They never seem tired of being redundant and they do what they do well.
5.8.10
New work and redness
We stick our faces in the river and breathe out hard so we can stay under longer. And still we sweat. Cherry pits in palms and a red sun that I can look at with the smallest of squints. The fruit and fires are staining everything.
2.8.10
New work and fire in the sky
Tidepools so far we could walk to the next country. We all make waves and soil our hems and the salt dries so slowly. The dogs shiver and we sit on the patio in the late sun watching the hummingbirds watch us. And then fireworks. The orange moon was better but it can't howl like the shots in the dark.
1.8.10
And the winner is ....
The winner of July's giveaway for this print is ...
... Make it Easy! (Congratulations my friend across the pond.)
His sentence to bring our story forward: "How will he show me he loves me next?"
Click here for the story so far ... six more instalments (and giveaways) to go!
August's giveaway will be the little number below (as always: giclee printed on fine art canvas with faux-polaroid borders). It's all about fire trees and meaty soil.
This is a personal favourite and I would love for you to return for the chance for it to travel to you and land on your wall. I believe in fate. You?
Besides, our protagonist might need some assistance walking home from the mailbox.
... Make it Easy! (Congratulations my friend across the pond.)
His sentence to bring our story forward: "How will he show me he loves me next?"
Click here for the story so far ... six more instalments (and giveaways) to go!
August's giveaway will be the little number below (as always: giclee printed on fine art canvas with faux-polaroid borders). It's all about fire trees and meaty soil.
This is a personal favourite and I would love for you to return for the chance for it to travel to you and land on your wall. I believe in fate. You?
Besides, our protagonist might need some assistance walking home from the mailbox.
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