bird in the hand

these are a series of 8"X8" square pieces that i did for my friend's new baby, silas.

i covered the canvases in pages from an old robert frost poetry book.  painted the birds and tree based on some fabric silas' mum sent me....added buttons...added orange stamped letters.  they are more "scrap-booky" than i would like, but i had an amazing time doing them.

i dont know how the blog will place them but they are a series.  from left to right it's brown bird, tree, and then orange bird.  and yes, those are real buttons.

in every room in the art building are a bunch of hand made signs that someone posted too high for anyone else to reach and one of them that inspired me to do these last night was a sign that said "doing art at 4am makes me happy."  so ya.  i stayed up till midnight making art.  i had forgotten how much fun that is.

some of the other signs are really funny too-- "not going to a snotty art school makes me happy."  "coffee and cigarettes make me happy."  "not fitting into the artsy stereotype makes me happy."  "knowing i will always answer to the title 'artist' makes me happy."  in class i always stare up at the signs wondering what grad student finishing a project at 3 am decided to grab a bunch of his buddies and a ladder and make the art rooms a better place.  

Thy name shall be called no more Jacob

well kids, just like you knew it would, it feels better already here.

i see now how much of a funny farm my old house really was.  you thought i would fit right in, didnt you.  but let me tell you, there are certain shades of crazy that will wreck a girl's complexion.  

its kind of amazing how different i am towards being here and even school itself than i was a month ago.  just a month.  

it was just a run on the beach actually that did it.

the day and 2 miles after art school fell through, i faced the sea because tears ache, like a river, to tell the ocean their secrets.

i dont know what made that time of prayer/desperation any different than the others, but the rocking horse snapped beneath my feet and something like submission (but lacking the metallic taste we have been taught to notice) knocked the wind out of the chase.

something consented.

something asked for a blessing.

something told me the touch on the hip was it.

the shrunken sinew

that to this day his people will not eat.

for i have seen God face to face, and my life is preserved.

God is superbly and perfectly mighty for us...it just takes a "yes" to Him that you can feel down to your toes.

"and jacob went on his way, and the angel of God met him."

my light is blue, how bout you?

someday, while you are still wild,

this is what you need to do

-wait for full moon and ten o'clock.

-46: both the speed and the hwy.

-yo yo ma's applachian waltz and beethoven's moonlight sonata (God bless the obvious).

and no head lights.

bloody amazing.  

you feel like you're flying.

rachel hazel

before i left tehachapi two days yore, mo and i decided we would each write a murder ballad before we saw each other again.  why?  because music that tells a story is interesting...and plus how could you not love an old fashioned murder ballad?  just ask townes van zandt or gillian welch.

here is mine.  see if you can put the pieces together.

(keep in mind it is set to music.  poem wise it doesnt do itself justice...i like it to music much better)...

rachel hazel

rachel hazel eyes like her mother

true as the clouds in the lake

that storm and wind and plates and glasses

just arent sufficient to break

where would you find it if it still existed?

what part would carry the blame?

where would you find him if he still existed?

feeling the sky in the lake

o, how she slept

that night in the bullrush

dreaming of how the waters close

rachel hazel binds on her bible

true as the words she wont take

the wind forgets us still as his  breathing

out through the clouds on the lake