Bean Doll

At the farmer's market this morning:

a present from Bonnie for Finn.

La Femme fiere d'elle même, 1946

She has a beauiful, fluffy dress

and she has high, high heels.  If

you have high heels, people will

love you.  If you want people to

love you, you have to love your-

self first.  That's what it means.

                             -Louise Bourgeois

On the Way to Michigan Booty

On the way to Michigan, we stayed with Ronna at Bruce Lake, in Indiana.  We picked up crab apples, rode the paddle boat, chased feral kittens, walked between corn fields.  Ronna gave me this vintage rake handle when we were leaving - I love it!  I think I will paint it with a white enamel and use it for wall hooks in the studio.  Back soon with the after shot.  Here's the before:

Michigan Booty

What is this?  The woman at the roadside market in South Haven, Michigan said it is an "Indian roller" - and this begs the question, what is an Indian roller?  Any ideas?  It probably has a textile application.  Speaking of textile tools, I also picked up a batik printing block.  Every summer, I bring one home:

Mom patrol

(Good morning! It's 3:22am. Han is making his nighttime rounds, nudging open our bedroom doors and standing stoically next to our beds for a couple of pats. Earlier, Finn was talking in his sleep.  Neil has a cold, so he is asleep in Finn's short bed, Spidey pillowcases and all. A mother bears witness, worries, loves.)

It is time to start preparing for the fall semester.  A beautiful tower of new books sits on one of my studio tables: Modernism, Art Since 1945, The Tradition of the New, Art and Objecthood, Expressionism, a new Dada anthology, Lucio Fontana, a collection of essays on sustainable design.  I want to teach 3D this year as survival arts: knitting, architecture, fire. 

On the Way to Michigan

Finn, Han, Daddy and me. 

Cha-ching

 

Taffeta Balloons and Quick Booklets

Apparently an old trick - apropos in this post-atomic age.
If you still have your prom dress
(and if you went to the prom between 1981 and 1994, there's taffeta somewhere on that sucker)
you can make balloons!

. . . . .

Today, I folded up some printer paper with my bone knife,
punched some holes in the "spine" with the tine of a fork,
and sewed through the holes with vintage rag yarn.

A quick little booklet for quick little drawings.

 

Sweet Home Spun

Sweet Home Spun

SHINE!

 

In My Garden

 

This afternoon, I felt. . .inflexible. I took a bowl from the kitchen and went into the green heat of the garden.  So much has happened since my last garden foray.  The garden is Neil's yield and I do not have a daily hand in it.  The wide green leaves hide saturated golds and reds.  The chard is glowing; the sunflower camouflages a fat bee.  Yield is the word.  

The garden yields and so will I today.

 Herb garden warrior.

 

Finn has been grabbing the camera from it's keeping place lately and shooting at will.
An underwater explorer.

Bright white lights.

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

- William Carlos Williams

Two excellent rescue dogs.

 

The angels made it to market, but the surfboard achieved greatness.

Cousin Noah drove through town in a new/used Winnebago with a one-year plan to travel the country and a 3-week start in Florida.  The board jumped off the wall and into the Winnebago and is now on its way to the Atlantic coast, bachelor in tow.  On a less enthralling note, I found that if I wrap Angie's hand dyed silks around the legs of a display table, a magical gypsy look takes effect - perhaps not so evident in the above photos - just imagine the silks blowing in last Sunday's bluster.  Last Sunday was spent at Art on the Parish Green with many lovely vendor neighbors and several exceptional customers.

R.I.P.

Louise Bourgeoise

It's 3am.  Time t'make the angels.  This weekend: Art on the Parish Green in New Albany.

Poor surfboard.
A mounted deer's head.
No action in Kentucky.

The top of my son's head.

When I asked for a "picolo" gelato for my son, the so (so!) handsome Italian owner of this gelato shop in Soho gave us a tiny vanilla cone gratis.  He had wavy silver hair and wore a starched pinstripe shirt.  I almost felt at home.