ceramic couples hold group wedding

I had a valentine's event called "HEARTSPEAK" in my studio this past saturday (you can see the remaining works here). The whole affair was supervised by my collection of forever-together ceramic couples who were taking part in a group ceremony. One of my grooms had lost an arm, and the best man turned out to be a penguin...but other than that, I think the whole arrangement was a fitting tribute to love and betrothal. I am not certain how the tiny bowling pin and looming canine fit in, but sometimes, ours is not to question. Love works in mysterious ways.

Taffeta

In one of my many vintage etiquette books (Margery Wilson's Pocket Book of Etiquette, 1941) Margery writes that "the thin woman has a great friend in taffeta". Now, why an etiquette book should be concerning itself with the size and fabric compatibilities of a woman's body and not adhering strictly to matters of decorum is the subject of another book, one that I am working on. But since she has, and since I happen to own a taffeta dress, and since I was seen making rather a spectacle of myself wearing it just last night at the Port Theatre in Nanaimo where I was performing my Charm, Beauty and Poise show, I thought it fitting that I picture it here, hanging in Dressing Room A, waiting for me to put it on. There was no star over the door of Dressing Room A, no champagne on ice, no post-performance flowers flooding in, but I have to admit I was a little thrilled to have a room of my own.

And though I am not particularly thin, I know what Margery means. I love my red taffeta dress and consider her a great friend even if she never picks up the tab. But perhaps what is most exciting for me as regards this taffeta dress is when I tuck my vintage crinoline under it and my hemline circumference becomes a force to be reckoned with, flaring out and taking up the equivalent of a small parking space.

This is when I feel the true power of taffeta.

Rare sighting of four-legged turkey

There has been a sighting of the extremely rare and elusive four-legged wild turkey. The bird was spotted today on the property of S. Norgate of Gabriola Island BC, Canada. Apparently it has been making its way across the continent, sheltered by vegans and vegetarians, all part of an elaborate underground railroad aimed at protecting the bird from exploitation by American Thanksgiving enthusiasts and in particular, dark meat lovers.
The bird, who agreed to be photographed on condition of anonymity, had no comment.

Why did the corvid cross the road?

This is the number one canvas completed as part of a series of twelve which are destined for a three-person show at Canada House Gallery opening on June 12th. That's a lot of numbers I realize. 1, 12, 3 and then 12 again.

I love birds. Some days my affection for birds rivals that of my love for dogs. The two species each have their areas of expertise. Birds specialize in singing, dazzling beak work, and of course, flight. Dogs on the other hand, specialize in sticks, loyalty and bad breath. I should clarify that bad breath is not a given. It depends on the dog and the agility of its guardian(s). For example, my sister and her partner have two rescued greyhounds named Albert and Ruby. They are small horses really. The jaws and teeth on these dogs are so expansive, and the dogs so willing, that my sister and her partner are able to lift their sizable cheek flaps (the dogs' I mean) and insert a fully operational electric toothbrush. This would not be possible for me because my dog Rosie's teeth are microscopic and her mouth opens only wide enough to allow in the smallest of biscuits. Besides, she believes that personal grooming devices are wasted on her and my efforts should instead be focused on preparing her next meal.
Which brings me back to birds. I wonder if they have bad breath? I've never been allowed close enough to be able to tell. Even if they did, I could forgive them anything in exchange for their song.

This was the scene a few days ago at the Nanaimo Art Gallery in - just as you would expect - beautiful downtown Nanaimo BC Canada. The occasion was the opening for a group show opened called "Art and the Message". I had been invited to participate and I was very happy to offer up for the occasion, four of my favourite freudian slips.

Not all of the work I do as an artist is intended to have a 'message', even though text can be found reliably strewn about. Sometimes I am quite simply having the time of my life. Sometimes the message is meant for me, and viewers 'overhear' this conversation I am having with myself. At still other times, my feminism rears its strident little head and I clearly set out to make a statement. This one (below) represents all three of these conditions. You probably can't make it out, but the little note collaged onto the canvas bears the lyrics to Brenda Lee's "I'm sorry". I am sure he is.

still life imitating still life

I was preparing lunch yesterday when my compost container caught my eye. It was so beautiful an arrangement of vegetable waste, I thought for sure it had been created by an elf, or sprite. Perhaps the angel of everyday kitchen miracles. See for yourself.

Artist's Work Dazzles Critics

I have just been paid the highest compliment on record, as regards my ability to render. And I don't mean to reduce, convert or melt down fat. Nor do I mean to deliver or pronounce formally as in "the jury rendered its verdict". I am also not referring to rendering assistance, rendering thanks, or rendering an apology. It's not that I haven't rendered in all of these ways. I even served as a juror once. We found him not guilty in case you are wondering.

I mean render as in "to represent in a drawing or painting".
Let me explain.
I was busy in the studio yesterday evening when a great ruccous could be heard originating from the living room. I had just given my dog Rosie her all-time favorite treat in the entire universe: a green plastic ball into which a collection of tiny kibbles had been inserted. That's my job, inserting the kibbles. Rosie's job is to then move the ball about the house in as strategic a manner as possible, so as to eject the tiny morsels and make them available for her consumption. Sometimes the ball gets lodged under a piece of furniture or it rolls into a tight corner, at which point Rosie begins pleading her case in a very vocal way. It's a very specific, "Timmy's in the well" , "something's gone horribly wrong" kind of thing. So like the thoroughly-trained woman I am, I went in to render my assistance. What I found there is what you see below.
















Rosie is not visible in the photo because she was at the time, maintaining a generous margin of safety between herself and the offending other 'dog' who she believed was real enough to be a threat.

Now that's rendering.
And they said I couldn't draw.