I sold my mothers dining room table last night. One of the last things my mother mentioned to me, in her right mind, was what a poor job I was doing taking care of it. She was right but I like to believe it came alive in the second part of it’s life, rather than sitting lonely in a room waiting for people to commune around it only a few times a month.
Read moreSo This Happened Today
Entirely Unedited.
Put a Cork In It
We talk about doing projects all the time. Artsy projects: the ones that fall between housework and demo-ing something. Usually it seems like they are unreachable dreams lost in our "some day." That is until last week when one of those long term projects came together quite nicely.
It all started with a little wine. For years, D meticulously saved the corks from bottles we opened together and with friends (or the ones from Napa he opened alone, while I was pregnant, claiming they would go bad = grr...). These wines were both good (the pregnancy ones) and so so vintages. Sometimes it was all about the novelty of the bottle, but pretty much any cork made its way in to an over sized bottle that collected dust on a shelf. Every now and then someone would remember to write on the cork what we had done the night we drank it and who we had shared the bottle with, but most of the time we just blindly saved the corks from post party clean-up and added them to the heap.
The collection grew fairly big. It got to the point where that over sized bottle, a large patron bottle, and then some empty vases were filled with corks. I grew increasingly annoyed at the collection of dust bunnies. Finally D transitioned all the corks in to one bag (due to employee uprising on my part) and brought them downstairs to our storage room. Admittedly I became a disbeliever in the project's fruition. I would secretly toss out stray corks; it just felt like this great idea would join the others on the island of misfit projects.
Cut to two weeks ago: our neighbor left a frame in the alley when he moved out. It was worn, weathered wood - soft and full of texture. I immediately liked it and brought it in to our house. I figured I would find some cool photo to put in it. When I came home the next night I was faced with the bag full of corks strewn across the table. I had seen it out a few times and it was always a sight I met with dismay because I knew the project would never get done. BUT when I saw the piece of board D had trimmed down to fit in to the back of the "alley" frame; it all made sense. The worn wood fit perfectly with the corks.
Later on D had achieved significant ground on our little project (which I now take half credit for even though it was really his brainchild for 3-4 years). I found him and miss M at work at our kitchen table, making sense of the puzzle ahead. D was doing most of the "heavy lifting" and miss M was inspecting a singular piece all for herself. He was halfway through the layout, it looked pretty good. We started talking about where we could hang it once he was done and everything was glued down. We realized there was more vertical wall space options than horizontal ones. It was at that point Mr. Maillet lost his steam.
Not to worry I picked it up the next day and turned most everything 90 degrees (...and brought a little balance to the piece). I got to spend time looking over the illustrations on the corks. Damn I wish I could remember some of the wines better and I wish we wrote on more of the corks. I'm sure a ton hit the trash that should be included in this piece but then again, there are so many others that made it: corks from our trip to Napa when I turned 30; from late nights with friends just here at home; from new years and other holidays; champagne celebrations, etc. All of it good. I'm talking years of memories here, and as D pointed out, a few thousand dollars in wine.
It all started with a little wine. For years, D meticulously saved the corks from bottles we opened together and with friends (or the ones from Napa he opened alone, while I was pregnant, claiming they would go bad = grr...). These wines were both good (the pregnancy ones) and so so vintages. Sometimes it was all about the novelty of the bottle, but pretty much any cork made its way in to an over sized bottle that collected dust on a shelf. Every now and then someone would remember to write on the cork what we had done the night we drank it and who we had shared the bottle with, but most of the time we just blindly saved the corks from post party clean-up and added them to the heap.
The collection grew fairly big. It got to the point where that over sized bottle, a large patron bottle, and then some empty vases were filled with corks. I grew increasingly annoyed at the collection of dust bunnies. Finally D transitioned all the corks in to one bag (due to employee uprising on my part) and brought them downstairs to our storage room. Admittedly I became a disbeliever in the project's fruition. I would secretly toss out stray corks; it just felt like this great idea would join the others on the island of misfit projects.
Cut to two weeks ago: our neighbor left a frame in the alley when he moved out. It was worn, weathered wood - soft and full of texture. I immediately liked it and brought it in to our house. I figured I would find some cool photo to put in it. When I came home the next night I was faced with the bag full of corks strewn across the table. I had seen it out a few times and it was always a sight I met with dismay because I knew the project would never get done. BUT when I saw the piece of board D had trimmed down to fit in to the back of the "alley" frame; it all made sense. The worn wood fit perfectly with the corks.
Later on D had achieved significant ground on our little project (which I now take half credit for even though it was really his brainchild for 3-4 years). I found him and miss M at work at our kitchen table, making sense of the puzzle ahead. D was doing most of the "heavy lifting" and miss M was inspecting a singular piece all for herself. He was halfway through the layout, it looked pretty good. We started talking about where we could hang it once he was done and everything was glued down. We realized there was more vertical wall space options than horizontal ones. It was at that point Mr. Maillet lost his steam.
Not to worry I picked it up the next day and turned most everything 90 degrees (...and brought a little balance to the piece). I got to spend time looking over the illustrations on the corks. Damn I wish I could remember some of the wines better and I wish we wrote on more of the corks. I'm sure a ton hit the trash that should be included in this piece but then again, there are so many others that made it: corks from our trip to Napa when I turned 30; from late nights with friends just here at home; from new years and other holidays; champagne celebrations, etc. All of it good. I'm talking years of memories here, and as D pointed out, a few thousand dollars in wine.
I had the layout done by the time D got home from work. We sat that night on each side of the frame gluing each piece down. We joked about caulk and each other's glue capabilities. We sipped wine and tried to remember the ones we already had. It is a great memory in and of itself.
Scribbles
I don't know how it happened but I got mugged today. I went into Scribbles, a stationary store on 15th Street, and walked out minus a good portion of $100. It's silly really; I just lost focus. I had no business being there in the first place. I forgot to kick the store in the balls and run for my life. Instead I got hypnotized by the luscious indents of letterpress and the hilariously cute one-liners of a good Mean Card. Oh how I miss card shopping, as one company marketed, "It's like candy for your pen."
In any case, I always want to pass along the yumminess. There are always old reliables, like Mean Cards:
What joy in loosing all my hard earned clams.
In any case, I always want to pass along the yumminess. There are always old reliables, like Mean Cards:
And new friends like, Night Owl Paper Goods, who use eco-friendly sustainably harvested wood and make you feel like a piece of the 70s have been sent to you via envelope.
And I always forget and then re-recognize the upside down 7 and parenthesis mustache of Old Tom Foolery.
This I Believe
Last week was a good "thank you" week. I got a letterpress treat in the mail from JH on the most ridiculously delicious paper I have seen in a while (it's not like me to say "delicious" but really, it's so friggin' tantalizing to touch). The scan doesn't do it justice (because you have to feel the sheer thickness of the paper and run your finger over the shape of the guitar) but I had to put up a scan anyway. You can come over for a visit and hold it/touch it - it's on display as we speak (no company plug as it's just some card stock she had laying around - JH always has good schtuff).
I too sent my own hot little thank you from egg press along to my bestie who clothed me with maternity gear a few weeks ago. She helped bring my pregnancy game up a few notches so I can look semi-fashionable with the bird in the oven. After mail call, she sent me a follow up thank you to the thank you (which for all it's silly reciprocity, made me smile - there's something about making someone else feel special which is really inspiring). MP also hand transcribed an added message in a effort to ease some bad day blues. It's from a book she shared with her sweet heart at bedtime. Admittedly I cried a bit because sometimes the words can be so simple and the message so basic, and yet still I'm constantly relearning to make this life less complicated. Some of the statements have become old hat and some are hard to swallow. In any case, I wanted to pass it along here. Thanks Meggy.
What I Believe
I believe that when doors shut, windows open.
I believe spring brings out hope in all of us.
I believe your special talents will light up the world.
I believe play is an important part of every day.
I believe dreams help you discover yourself.
I believe fairies dance at sunrise and sunset and in the moonlight.
I believe animals know more than we think they do.
I believe being able to receive from others is just as important as giving.
I believe your guardian angel never leaves your side.
I believe a good friend is a treasure, and you need to take care of your treasure.
I believe if you need a nap, you should take one.
I believe music and dance fill your spirit.
I believe life can give you the best you can imagine.
What I believe in the most is you - who you are, who you will be, and how you will give your special talents to the world.
Fabric Balls
Saturday I was on a mission to find new fabric for the dining room chairs. I got in the car, turned down the back windows for Gingy, and tuned to some jazz station. On my way to Denver Fabrics, I past a sign on Broadway reading "Fabric Sale 50% off". It was just the sign I was looking for, aka youaspeakamykindaspeak.
A lady was leaving as I entered the store. I took the stairs in front of me and found my way up into the fabric zone. As always, it was a little overwhelming and exciting. The colors and textures are so fun to peruse. I was wondering around when I heard a downstairs voice ask if someone was upstairs. In the sea of fabric, I didn’t respond; but then again the voice wasn’t asking me. I heard foot steps and a guy appeared.
He was dark-haired, olive-skinned Jersey. I liked that. He was the kind of guy I used to have a major crush on, though in this situation I was willing to put my money on the fact that he was probably gay (not to mention I am married). He asked what I was looking for and I told him I wanted to recover my kitchen table chairs with something funky and cool. He asked if I had a color in mind. I said I liked orange. I followed his lead and he took me directly to a fabric that was orange with some hints of pink. It had silvery white flourishes on top and had that durable coating suitable for table chairs. It really was a perfect hit and I said I would take it. He went downstairs to get some scissors and when he came back up, he asked if I was still with him? I said yes. He said, “Good. I’m glad someone has the balls to use this fabric.” I said, “Well, I guess I have the balls.”
We went over to the cutting table and he measured out three yards, giving it to me for the price of two because of a seam in the measurement. I thought about how I probably should not be spending money to change my chairs but also how funky and cool it would look AND how I was the only woman in this world with the balls to pull it off. He made the cut and folded it up. Always the commitment-phobe, a little buyers remorse snuck in right when the weight of the fabric was placed in my hands. I followed him to the stairs looking at the fabric wondering if I mistook funky for possibly offensive or old lady? I thought about coming home and D hating it, even though we both loved orange. He caught my non-verbal consideration and said to me, “He’ll love it.” At that point I knew he was gay ... and my crush grew three sizes that day.
A lady was leaving as I entered the store. I took the stairs in front of me and found my way up into the fabric zone. As always, it was a little overwhelming and exciting. The colors and textures are so fun to peruse. I was wondering around when I heard a downstairs voice ask if someone was upstairs. In the sea of fabric, I didn’t respond; but then again the voice wasn’t asking me. I heard foot steps and a guy appeared.
He was dark-haired, olive-skinned Jersey. I liked that. He was the kind of guy I used to have a major crush on, though in this situation I was willing to put my money on the fact that he was probably gay (not to mention I am married). He asked what I was looking for and I told him I wanted to recover my kitchen table chairs with something funky and cool. He asked if I had a color in mind. I said I liked orange. I followed his lead and he took me directly to a fabric that was orange with some hints of pink. It had silvery white flourishes on top and had that durable coating suitable for table chairs. It really was a perfect hit and I said I would take it. He went downstairs to get some scissors and when he came back up, he asked if I was still with him? I said yes. He said, “Good. I’m glad someone has the balls to use this fabric.” I said, “Well, I guess I have the balls.”
We went over to the cutting table and he measured out three yards, giving it to me for the price of two because of a seam in the measurement. I thought about how I probably should not be spending money to change my chairs but also how funky and cool it would look AND how I was the only woman in this world with the balls to pull it off. He made the cut and folded it up. Always the commitment-phobe, a little buyers remorse snuck in right when the weight of the fabric was placed in my hands. I followed him to the stairs looking at the fabric wondering if I mistook funky for possibly offensive or old lady? I thought about coming home and D hating it, even though we both loved orange. He caught my non-verbal consideration and said to me, “He’ll love it.” At that point I knew he was gay ... and my crush grew three sizes that day.
NEXT!
I'm a texture girl myself. I like art that makes me want to reach out and touch it. I gravitate to paint pealing off old doors and colors built up in formations that negate the laws of gravity on the canvass.
Image created from a piece in D J Hamilton's Wise Words As Art exhibit
Watercolor seems so light and fragile; it demands a reasonable amount of letting go and feels so opposite to my ingrained chunky affinity. Tonight, inspired by art night held at NEXT Gallery, I made some peace with easy strokes and diluted color. I focused my elementary skills and novice watercolor paints on my newly purchased Strathmore cold press watercolor 140 lb. heavy weight, professional grade paper. I felt a bit more engaged blending colors and adding water the surface. JH let me borrow her fancy brush to feel the ease of a few strokes. It was huge and thick and yet could also create the finest point. It looked cool and I felt some strange element of magic working with it (like Harry Potter with a Nimbus 2000 - sorta). I was sad to give it back and return to my tiny pointed brush that could barely graduate from kindergarten let alone hold a reasonable drop of water and color. Still, I managed to let the colors flow over the page. I placed water on top to see how it was absorbed and how it found its' way into the crevices, creating a new type of texture to enjoy. It wasn't pretty but it was interesting.
Image created from a piece in D J Hamilton's Wise Words As Art exhibitWatercolor seems so light and fragile; it demands a reasonable amount of letting go and feels so opposite to my ingrained chunky affinity. Tonight, inspired by art night held at NEXT Gallery, I made some peace with easy strokes and diluted color. I focused my elementary skills and novice watercolor paints on my newly purchased Strathmore cold press watercolor 140 lb. heavy weight, professional grade paper. I felt a bit more engaged blending colors and adding water the surface. JH let me borrow her fancy brush to feel the ease of a few strokes. It was huge and thick and yet could also create the finest point. It looked cool and I felt some strange element of magic working with it (like Harry Potter with a Nimbus 2000 - sorta). I was sad to give it back and return to my tiny pointed brush that could barely graduate from kindergarten let alone hold a reasonable drop of water and color. Still, I managed to let the colors flow over the page. I placed water on top to see how it was absorbed and how it found its' way into the crevices, creating a new type of texture to enjoy. It wasn't pretty but it was interesting.
Cool Dog, Old Door
I have a slight obsession with texture in general and pealing paint on old doors in particular.We were finishing a walk the other day and I had Gingy pose with this one: a unique find in our Denver neighborhood. I think the photo is deceptive: it creates the sense that we are in England or some cool Maine town. Really it is dry Denver being drenched by summer snain (a mix of snow and rain).
Gingy was not fond of taking the shot either so I had to toss the promise of a "treat" in the air to make her perk up a tiny bit.