Yesterday, I was having more trouble than usual in making a decision. I decided not to paint as I did not believe the result would be any good.
Snatching a few moments after lunch and before going in the spa, I used green ink to sketch bubble chains with knife or claw like weapons plus eight and ten pronged star shapes ending with more prongs or spikes.
I imagine microscopic strings of metal snaking and undulating as they meander through the cosmos. The armament is used to defend, attack, and infiltrate asteroids, comets, and anything else that can assist its survival and reproduction.
The serpentine forms protect the dandelion clock like heads as they disperse and germinates more seeds of destruction.
Even with the air conditioning on twenty five degrees centigrade on Wednesday night, I was sweaty and had a restless night. I awoke too many times to count. I went to sleep seeking inspiration for my next painting, perhaps featuring airhead or more ovoids.
The dream
One of the dreams included a back garden of the house we are living in. Noticing a fallen orchid branch, I stuck it into the soft earth below a tree whose trunk was too wide to get my hands to meet while hugging it.
I assumed the tree was very old. The gnarled serpentine roots appeared to be breaking ground as far as the eye could see. I wondered if this was the reason the concrete pad next to the carport was lifting.
Noticing an avocado on the ground, split open to expose the green flesh and stone, I looked up. Whole fruit hanging tantalisingly from the branches above. Feeling hungry and needing to prepare breakfast, I went to get a dark honey finished high, backed bar stool, setting it below one of the lower branches.
Upon climbing onto the stool, it wobbled frightfully, backwards and forewords. Gaining balance, extending to my full five feet and seven inches, I could not reach the prize. I grabbed the nearest branch, giving it a vigorous shake, I imagined a deluge of heavy thuds.
Nothing happened.
They are not ready to fall, I thought. The vendors of the house must have harvested before we moved in this time last year. Excitedly, I rushed towards the house to tell husband, M. about the bountiful tree.
The reality
We do not have a high, backed bar stool in our household. We do not have an avacado tree growing in our garden. I have only seen and walked under an avocado tree while holidaying in Port Douglas, Far North Queensland. I remarked the other day it is coming up to ten years since we last visited. I miss it.
The avo stone is an ovoid within the flesh ovoid within the skin ovoid; Russian doll springs to mind.
The loops in this picture are each three colours in pencil plus ink on top. As I was completing them, I thought, why did I start this? Later on I thought of Faberge styled avocados.
There is a pink airhead, Altair who dreams of becoming a bear. With no fur of their own they find a den in town To toast ‘cheers!’ and praise burly hair
I trained in hospitality. Our practical cookery lecturer, Edwin Fellows was a stickler for mis en place and clean as you go. Over forty years later I employ both ethe when creating food and art.
Perhaps it has taken on the flavour a of ritual, getting everything ready before starting and keeping the workplace clean and tidy. I can appear a bit of a headless chook, during the process.
Morning commutes and stilling my mind before Morpheus leads me away brought forth the inspiration for this week’s picture.
Ovoids of citrus lemon and orange paired with turquoise from the sea. The black ink pen is running out and I have not sought out my fountain pen and 1980s black Quink ink from the shed. The bubbles are drawn in coloured pencil.
Today, I have taken a bank day from work. Tomorrow is the anniversary of the day we moved into our new home.
bird of paradise flower
My husband, M. Took these photographs around the back garden, last week.
bromeliad
Living in a regional area has enabled us to tick off a number of requirements from our house wish list. This in turn has led to an improved standard of living for us and Stan:
escape from the nightmare of townhouse living
detached single storey house
enough space within
large covered outdoor area
garden large enough for Stan to run around
sunshine to grow herbs and tomatoes
Over the past year, we have lived frugally without a credit card. We have learned to notice and appreciate the activity of crows, magpies, lorikeets, and miner birds. Also, we understand the significance of severe weather warnings and the levels of flood alerts.
bromilead
Unfortunately, we are further away from friends. They know they are always welcome to visit and they do.
I will brazenly prostitute myself for the chance of being rewarded with free stuff. I am delighted if a free cloth bag contains paper and pens. And boy do I hoard them.
Around a decade ago in Sydney, the local office supply company, Office Works were giving customers a bag weighed down with pencils, pens, pencil case, and bookmarks.
The pink, green, and purple ink pens used in today’s mixed media abstract picture are from that boon. I used the pens to outline the ovoids, washed over with watercolour and drew the shapes again on top.
The stamped circles were outlined in Lipton’s decaffeinated tea with paint added while wet.
In my mind during the week leading up to this week’s mixed media painting, I thought dark green flowing into yellow. When it came to mixing the colours yesterday, I loved the green so much, I felt pink was needed.
I started the painting in portrait to encourage the colours to flow and mingle.
Last week’s stamped rings were achieved by applying watercolour to the rim of a drinking glass with a brush. This week I dipped the edge of a deeper rimmed glass into paint in a saucer, resulting in more strongly defined circles.
My husband commented the colours looked subdued. I explained they were step one.
With the picture turned around to landscape, I added green, pink, red, and black bubbles. This draws out the creative process and extends my enjoyment.
As it was a warm sunny Autumn day, I took a break yesterday so that we could spend a couple of hours in the spa.
Coming back to the painting this morning, there was very little to add.
My ‘80s sister, Wimbledon day party, very heavy false lashes
This year my sister would have been sixty. As Mardi Gras is in the air, I authored the following poem in their memory, Gossamer consonance.
There is a photo of me from the same event at the end of this post.
Well my friends the time has come All night long fond memories Of us boogieing on down In Blackpool of ‘84 My wistful sister dreams as Lionel Ritchie serenades Confident dragon hearted A helping hand and support With impish sense of humour The eighties is our time to Raise the roof and have some fun Throw away the work to be done Curious invert spirits joined Relishing life’s offerings And let the music play on Play on play on Everybody sing everybody dance Lose yourself in wild romance Australia with my soul mate French lorry driver for Sis Our gossamer consonance stretched Ten thousand miles forty years I imagine them beyond the veil Forever young partying under Perpetual mirrorballs Yeah once you get started You can’t sit down Come join the fun It’s a merry-go-round Everyone’s dancing Their troubles away Come join our party See how we play
theINFP 