Peekaboo Painting
When I was younger I used to draw and paint all the time. When it came time to apply to college, I had to decide what I wanted to major in and I chose art. I applied to schools with that major in mind and was even accepted at Rhode Island School of Design. Instead, I chose Middlebury College and after two semesters in the art program decided to quit because I didn't like the fact that the critiques were making me lose my love for art. It wasn't that I couldn't handle the criticism, although that is never fun, it's just I found all the analysis and critique was robbing my joy of something I really enjoyed doing. I continued to draw and paint on my own, but life and work seemed to get in the way and it wasn't until recently when I discovered photography and photoshop and collage that my desire to draw returned. I began printing out my digital collages and adding drawings and pastel accents and suddenly I found myself sketching on my i-pad. Recent, I decided to break out some paint and try my hand at it again.
A while back I posted a photo of my pug Alfie hiding among some flowers. I loved the "peekaboo" quality of it and thought it would be a fun subject for an "off-the-cuff" watercolor. Actually I should say gouache. I always end up treating my watercolors like acrylics and piling on a thicker layer of paint because I like the texture. It was fun to use real paint and paper again. There is a different feel from a stylus against a tablet, a different type of energy. I find I enjoy both.
Calendar Girl
A while back my photo of the Lincoln Barn in Bethel, Vt. made it into a juried exhibit at The Darkroom Gallery in Essex, Vt. The gallery recently asked if they could use the photo in their 2013 calendar. Today, I found out that the calendars are out and available for sale for $12.99. They feature images from a year's worth of gallery exhibits at The Darkroom Gallery and are an excellent way to support a small, but vibrant and vital Vermont art gallery.
Drive-Thrus
Back when my pug Vader was alive going through a drive-thru of any kind was a real experience. That’s because Vader saw every drive-thru as a McDonald’s and McDonald’s meant Fillet O’ Fish, his favorite treat. He loved them so much that on the day he died, I took him through the drive-thru one last time and let him eat away to his heart’s content. I’m not sure he had ever tasted them before that; he used to practically inhale them. But on that last day, I saw him really savoring the last bite, not able to finish the third fillet I had purchased.
Because Vader loved his fillets, going to the drive-thru bank was problematic. He would start to salivate and moan and whimper and bark believing that instead of cash and a dog biscuit, the window held the promise of his treasure. The dry, old milk bone that the teller offered with a smile hardly sufficed and he would bark so loudly and whine so badly that I would have to make the 10-mile trip, one way, to the closest McDonald’s.
Vader is gone, but going to the bank hasn’t gotten any easier. Perhaps Alfie remembers Vader’s behavior and what it produced or perhaps she and Waffles find the sight of the teller too exciting, but as we approached the drive-thru today the two started screeching. Alfie was hopping up in her car seat and Waffles throwing herself at the window in the hopes that she would slip out of her harness to freedom. The teller smiled a sinister smile as if she were immensely pleased that she was safe behind the window glass. She offered two tiny dog treats, which rather than appeasing my duo, set them off on another frantic rush at the glass. I drove off without counting my money, my car screaming.
I’m not sure what’s happened, but my two charming little female pugs have become treacherous gremlins as late. You know, like in the Steven Spielberg movie – “Don’t ever feed them after midnight?” Yet, while little Gizmo came with this pertinent instruction, I have no idea what has set my two off.
Before Waffles came, Alfie was finally bidding her puppyhood goodbye. She has become a seasoned couch potato, the perfect writing dog, always by my side or my feet. When Waffles came the two became enamored with each other, playing together, sleeping together. I almost could have gotten so jealous if it wasn’t so cute. There’s been a little adjustment with Waffles – I still can’t stop her from tipping over every trashcan in the house – but overall it seemed like she was fitting right in. I couldn’t tell who was top dog, the two seemed to take turns relinquishing their food or toys to the other, but I figured they’d work it out.
A few weeks ago things began changing and I’m not sure what changed. Alfie turned into a whirling dervish, always alert, always panting. She and Waffles play like mad, but suddenly Alfie is not seeing or hearing me at all. The two have stopped eating unless you lock them in their pens and sit with Waffles. You can’t take them for rides in the car without them going ballistic. If Alfie gets loose, she refuses to come to me. My sweet, best friend doesn’t seem to care much for me at all and sometimes it hurts.
Today, I was ready to pull my hair out. After going through the drive-thru, I turned to look in the back and saw Alfie had toppled her car seat and was hidden beneath it. Waffles was panting and snorting badly as if she might faint and I suddenly realized she had managed to wrap her seatbelt around her leg and if she moved much more she might break it. At that moment, my father called on my cellphone to report on my mother’s doctor’s appointment.
“What the heck’s that noise?” he asked. I’m not sure if he was referring to Waffles hacking snorts or Alfie’s frantic panting. As he went on talking about knee braces, osteoarthritis and surgery, I tried desperately to untangle Waffle’s while body blocking Alfie who was ramming her head into my side to get out of the car.
“Um, I think I’m ready to sell them,” I only half-joked.
Seriously, I would never get rid of my dogs, but I have to wonder what happened to those idyllic visions of a peaceful life spent with animals. These two are definitely not acting like man’s best friend and I’m not sure what has set them off. Most training books would probably trace it back to me, but I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong.
I have decided to probably forgo drive-thrus for a while, at least to the pecking order is established and the screaming has stopped.
Sketch Give-a-Way
I'm launching another give-a-way this week. This one is for two 5 x 7 i-pad sketches called Ever Faithful and Saint and Sinner, featuring the divine and demonic sides of pugs/dogs. In order to qualify for a chance to win just leave a comment on my blog this week. I will announce a winner next Sunday. Please spread the word.
Also, for those of you who missed out on my Pug & Petals Greeting Cards, I have added them as a boxed set for sale as well as individually in the gallery section of my web site.
Thank you to all of you who have visited the site thus far. Come back for more pug tales in the days ahead.
Writing Prompt: Details
So many moments brush passed us like busy shoppers on a sidewalk. We may register them, but they slip away. Even when they hold simple pleasures that make us smile or small revelations that make us think, we only offer our hats or a nod of our heads as appreciation, then scurry off down our respective paths. Sometimes, if we are lucky we recall them again, perhaps bringing them up later in conversation to a friend or spouse, the way we might say, “hey, I saw so and so today.” But often we just forget.
Something about this seems sad. Photography helps and writing, each offering us a chance to capture these small moments and give them their due. Sometimes a camera is not always ready, so lately I have taken to sketching as well.
The thing about these moments, the reason so many drift away, is that they may not be big or profound, they may lack lasting impact, seem rather ordinary, but like puzzle pieces with strange corners and edges, these are the things that fit together in the end to make up our lives.
So, here are a few of the things I saw this week: a cerulean shadow of trees cast on the hood of my parent’s white Honda and the deeper shadow of me photographing it. Birds nests, everywhere, until I’m left wondering if they are some special sign, secret words whispered by the universe, speaking of home. And, this weekend on Saturday, when I went to drop some photos off at a gallery for an upcoming holiday show, I saw a Fiesta Squirrel.
I was on my cellphone with my brother when I saw it – a big, fat squirrel in a full out run, prize in his hands, galloping for home. When I spotted him he was in mid-leap, jumping like a bionic man off a picnic table someone had decorated with streamers and colored tablecloth in festive colors –“ I just saw a Fiesta Squirrel,” I declared matter-of-factly to my brother and then we both burst into laughter.
“It’s one of those days,” he deadpanned.
I would have forgotten about the squirrel, I think, if I hadn’t found a photo today that I snapped of the table. The photo is blurry as the memory would soon have become. I decided instead to sketch it tonight. Not a big moment in my life and I could have gone on with it stored in the recesses of memory, but at the time I saw this happy creature, he made me pause in what had been a hectic day. He elicited laughter. He made me feel good, so perhaps I should remember him after all. Perhaps these are the memories I should hold over grudges and worries and big celebratory feats. If God is in the details I would do well to remember cerulean shadows, waiting birds nests, and Fiesta Squirrels.
Also, please don't forget to comment in the Pugs and Petals Greeting Card give-a-way.
Writing Prompt: What details did you pass by today you might like to recall later? Write about them.
Cowpath
The Hubbard Hall Writers' Group met today in Sandgate, Vt. at the home of one of the other writers, Rachel. That meant a two-hour trip for me down past Rutland, Manchester, and Arlington to Sandgate. I had never heard of Sandgate. Needless to say, I got lost.
When I finally arrived at the meeting late and breathless, our mentor made some comment that concluded with me not liking to travel and not thinking I readily agreed. I lied. I love to travel. Most of my time, in fact, is spent in the car either traveling on writing assignments, headed to events such as pug socials, friend's houses, or on leisurely drives with my friend, Joan.
When I was younger I would have said I didn't like driving -- I was 17 before I got my license -- but even that has changed. I enjoy my time in the car, listening to the music, audiobooks, composing stories in my head. I love the change of scenery and I love the possibility of what might be around the next corner. I love stopping to take pictures.
I don't like driving in cities, places I don't know or in bad weather. Today, the sun was shining and I was definitely not in a city, but I was in a place I didn't know and while my GPS typically gives me a measure of confidence, today I found myself not just lost, but very lost! It didn't look so bad at the beginning. I knew that Rachel lived out in the country, so I wasn't concerned when "Mother" (my nickname for my GPS, because she tells me what to do) led me down a dirt road and I still wasn't fazed when the road narrowed. I even happily proceeded to climb the steepening hill. What did deter me was the sudden lack of a road -- suddenly I found myself on a cowpath, no road, just a thin line of dirt amidst a mountain field. At the top of the narrow path, which disappeared into nowhere were two hunters decked in camouflage and rifles. Not at all inviting!
I managed to call Rachel and get new directions to her house and arrived there unharmed if flustered, not a fascinating tale, but an important one. Any good story needs a setting and it is important in understanding mine to know just how much of my time takes place in my car. I do not have a house of my own, but I own my car and I find myself frequently in it, often with the pugs strapped into their car seats in the rear. On most days Mother guides us well to dog parks and photo ops, and we are seldom lost except in the realm of possibility. And, of course, every once in awhile a cowpath is the road that takes us there.
Wendy and the Lost Boys
Wherever I go, my dogs are right beside me. They follow me throughout the house, my constant shadows. Mostly it is comforting, sometimes it is suffocating.
"You're their Wendy," my Mom said to me today.
"What?" I asked.
"You know, their Wendy, like in Peter Pan," she offered. "They're the little lost pugs without you! They're in search of a mother."
I laughed, but there was some truth to what Mom was saying. Alfie never had much parenting. Her pug mama accidentally squished one of Alfie's siblings and so was only allowed in with her puppies when they were nursing. Waffles lived an independent life running rampant with the other pugs at my friend Joan's. Both pugs are as impish and as mischievous as the Lost Boys. When I'm not home, they wait for me by the window, when they're not fighting over bones, knocking over trashcans, banging into each other. They seem to be in need of mothering, someone to teach them some order and discipline. Someone to give them some nurturing.
Sometimes I'm at a loss as to what my role should be with these two. I'm in search of a metaphor, a way to connect and interact with these two alien creatures in our makeshift pack. Maybe being a Wendy to some lost pugs is a place to start.
A Puzzle
My dog is a puzzle and a shadow
A mere silhouette
A mystery, a cypher
Not at all a sure bet
I watch and I study
But she hides her full face
Then returns to my feet
Claiming her place
With a wag of her tail
A snort and a bark
She spills all her secrets
While I remain in the dark
Perhaps always a puzzle, a shadow
A mere silhoutte
But from my perspective
The most faithful of pets
Surprise
Sometimes there's nothing better than a surprise, at least when it's a good one and I had a wonderful surprise today when I received a package in the mail. As I told the sender of the package, Jane McMillan of Little House Home Arts, it was a day of drudgery and deadlines when suddenly there it was a box marked "Orvis."
I had been thinking of buying a dog bed from Orvis, but this was a small box not a large one and I couldn't remember ordering anything from Orvis including a dog bed. What could it be I thought, worried as I opened it that it might be a joke or evidence that I was losing my mind. It was neither. It was a thoughtful gift from a friend.
I first met Jane at an art show I didn't now many people so I wandered over to Jane's table where she was working on a quilt and found a friend. At first I was just happy to chat and hear about the work she was doing, but soon I found myself laughing and smiling and just enjoying her stories. Jane has one of those warm, friendly faces reflective of a warm, friendly heart.
Inside the Orvis box today were two candy corn pincushions that I had inquired about. I love candy corn and when I saw these on Jane's page, I had to have them. I figured Jane was busy when she didn't respond right away. Little did I know she had a plan. I am always misplacing my needles when I work on my collages so these items are a gift in more ways than one. Jane's generosity may only be matched by her creativity. She has a number of other wonderful pincushion designs on her web site at www.littlehousehomearts.com.
You should check them out. You might find something there that surprises and delights you just as I did.