French Press 3

Black mohair, Alpaca/Silk, Merino and white mohair content. Same size as French Press Cover 1 & 2.
The aborigine and seafoam- green are New Zealand wool. The green wool has some unidentified content which I suspect is mohair as it has many wispy hairs. Because of the strong design element of the strand of white mohair, no handle to top tassel is necessary.

French Press Cover

Lindeeg

I did a posting on some work that a friend created , then removed the graphics . NOW, that wordpress has increased the storage limit to 3G, here are more of Lindee’s work. Lindee and I share laughter and can do so for decades over the silliest of incidents. We both were never allowed to be children as children thus we relive/share our childhood wackiness with the help of her hubby (the pun king)

 

Inspirational Torch

What I want to say, the words are impounded, what I shouldn’t say seems to be an unending supply of hurtful empty darts. Words are such a challenge for me. I grew up in a home of humiliation and constant teasing, although I still feel the sting of those ugly words, I am stuck and almost committed in the same pathway. I allow the overflow portal of my soul to spew hurtful pebbles or sharp jagged rocks at those I care about and love. I, so, desire to speak inspiration, hope and, to stir the kindness within peoples hearts. I had a design/art professor in college that opened doors of motivation and dared me to think higher and deeper. The natural outcome allowed me to excel beyond my skills and understanding. If she had doubts about me, she never dropped the hint of incompetence. I left college believing the stars were too close or minute when I could go “where no (wo)man has gone”. I did some amazing things in the following years; I accomplished things that still dazzle me. Twenty years later, the torch of inspiration is at my fingertips ready for dispensations so others can reach out and touch their dreams, accomplish or exceed their capacity as Mary Ann did for me. The question is how do I gather the words that seem to stumble and fall at my feet? I want to escape that humiliated child holding an empty basket, unable to speak because of the frequent tongue lashings. There are no scars only open wounds.

Wall of Red Paintings

Can you see a sea of red paintings where each can stand on its own merits but the sum of its parts is even stronger? This is in progress. It is an expression of us, we have our own voice and convictions; yet, we stand together in this decaying world. I read a posting by a Father Stephen and why the small things matter. The words were emotionally touching because I often discount the small things in daily life, as I strive to obtain a level above survival mode. It is devastating to be rejected, tossed on the heap, viewed as spent, of little value when I once was singing and earning gold…… My input was highly valued and backed with a salary exceeding abundance, laced with benefits and regular, handsome quarterly bonuses with constant talk of cutting-edge technology. I miss the mass of people I met on trains, planes, the sleek,colorful work environments not to mention the off hours play grounds.  Someday I will look back on this solitary life as a blessing but currently I crave for the excitement of hectic airports, business suits, deadlines and long hours. Yeah, vanity, vanity all is vanity because love is where the important things lay— without it, we are a clanging cymbal explaining why I am so brassy. Love only comes from the power higher than me, the one who gave atonement for my short comings. yet He seems so remote and unconcerned with my state of affairs as He sees a bigger, all encompassing picture.

Hidden Treasures

Intelligence is a long debated subject, there have been standards devised yet it is well known fact they are biased by the authors environment/intellect. Then, Howard Gardener came along with his seven levels of intelligence, which gathered the creative slice of society as a mother hen would her chicks. Emotional intelligence a whole slice of a different pie, which is rarely addressed or taken seriously. The past 12 years I have oozed with envy to have what a group called Mensa, the “supposedly” top two percent of society’s intellectual group contains. I have worked for firms that only hire the top two percent of their school class. I seem to gravitate to those with higher reasoning skill sets. So, what has intelligence come to mean to me? Not one who can recall facts, figures or trivia at the snap of a finger, or those in prominent leadership positions, or even those who have intuitively extracted from life what they need. To me what it means to be intelligent is one who knows who they are inside, is sensitive enough to see past others behaviors and understand them as people, one who assesses situations or circumstances and can accurately address it not project or jump to symptom conclusions. I believe an intelligent person is insightful, mature, humble and caring and yet appropriately interjects humor into a tense state of affairs.

Cranbrook Fruit

A friend of mine was attending Cranbrook School of Design and I was green with envy. Happy for her, of course so I press my nose against the portal of her experience. I was growing tired of paint and the 5’ x 8’ pieces I had been creating and showing. She wrote to me about her exploration painting with the juice of various fruits, which was way out of the box even for Krissy. As I waiting anxiously for a post card or some sort of visual of her ideas, I began looking at fruit as a medium. I happened u pon this citrus peeler, oranges, limes and grapefruits. I cut designs into the fruit then let the fruit dehydrate; of course they had to be rotated every other day so the interior juice would not flatten the fruit. At the end of 6 weeks, my masterpieces were completed. I never did anything with them except send some to her, after they sat in a box for 9 years. I moved to a new house and the insects loved these hardened hollow citrus creations. Within no time they became total powder. So the experiment with fruit was a short lived one but fun.

B.A.L.M

Darin White and Shannon White (D & S), whom I teasingly call each Dannon, have been exceedingly instrumental in the renewal of my expressive gifts. Darin and Shannon’s commitment to calling out the talents within artist has been amazing to witness. Their care and concern to facilitate the artist to being expressive in their respective passion has been overwhelming impressive. I was skeptical at first but as I see how they interact with artist of various medium, I see D & S as the unselfish, giving people. They tend to take a negative and immediately see the good in it and multiple the good. Not only are D & S talented and accomplished artist themselves, their passion for the arts and life is unmatched. They have a vision of the intertwining of the two, which can’t be separated. Darin’s sculptures are executed with a fine eye to elements creating a dialogue amongst line, light and shape. Shannon’s dedication to the human figure and its beauty is moving. The portraits she composes are not just reflective of the outer flesh but the heart of the individual. I am grateful for the passion they have extended to me. Visit their site to see what they have accomplished in just a few months. http://balmorg.wordpress.com/

Repeated

I am clueless what exactly goes into a blog, is it a mere record of the ramblings of my mind? Or should I have some metaphoric, poignant vision? I have been an early riser since a youth. The morning air, sounds, quality of light fascinates me because I am bursting with energy and my senses seem to be keenly heightened. My mom would wake up to find me outside playing in my jammies amongst my imaginative animal friends. This morning a storm has passed through as the sun was rising. The sky was blackish, grey with the yummy color of midnight blue-that deep indigo with a slight touch of green. As a textile artist with ADD, I tend to wander in and out of various mediums. It as always been an issue, for me to focus and master one medium thus I often give into the temptation and digress. The wandering path does not last long as I quickly discover that nothing satisfies me more than the textures found in fibers/textiles.