Creative Sparks

Poster by Rachel Barlow of www.pickingmybattles.com I've been busy this week pulling together my work for the above event. I, and a number of other writers who have been working under the tutelage of author Jon Katz for the last year, are giving a reading and showing off our artwork this Friday at Hubbard Hall in Cambridge, NY.

I've also been trying to settle back into everyday life following a working vacation in DC last week in which I attended Blogpaws and visited with an old college friend. I came home to a house torn up by renovations to the upstairs bathroom, so reentry has been challenging to say the least. As a result, I haven't had much time for serious work and hope you have been as entertained as I was by some of the great pet photo ops from Blogpaws.

Those of you in the Cambridge, NY area please consider attending the reading on Friday and don't forget to say "hi." I'd love to meet you!

An Artist's Journey

Items awaiting the kiln When I was ten years old I took art lessons with an art teacher who lived up the street. She eventually moved to a nearby house, built an art studio and opened her home up as a gallery and teaching space. I remember wanting to emulate her – not only her art, but also her lifestyle. Maybe someday I too, could draw, paint and work out of my home.

It seems to me that for many artists, the title is about more than a profession; it is about a way of life. Most artists I know are trying to carve out a living doing what they love. Most want to be surrounded by beautiful things. Many want to live a simple life, close to nature, close to the work they love.

Two Potters' New Studio

Inside the Studio

I have been trying for most of my life to create such a life for myself and in many ways I’ve achieved it. I am a professional writer and teacher. I have managed to eschew the 9 to 5 grind. But, the term starving artist exists for a reason and I have yet, to establish the home that I have always dreamed of having as my own creative space. I’ve set out and tried a couple of times to build one, but money always proves an obstacle. Still, the dream is strong, which is why perhaps I am so enchanted when I see it realized by others.

Pottery

Several years ago, I wrote an article for Upper Valley Life Magazine about two potters, Becca Van Fleet and Nathan Webb. Theirs was a love story, both as a couple and as artists. Recently married, they were building a kiln and creating their own artistic dream. I fell in love with their story and watched as they finished their kiln and set out to build a studio. Each open studio weekend I am there, purchasing a fine collection of their wonderful pottery. Today, when I stopped by with my mother and sister-in-law Leah, to introduce Leah to their work, I discovered not only their completed studio, but also learned the news that they are pregnant. Another unfulfilled dream of mine, but rather than feeling jealous I find myself delighting in seeing this deserving couple’s personal and work lives expand.

Chalk Board

Becca

These two potters, and their dog, Lego, short for Legolas of Lord of the Rings fame, make their home not far down the road from my own property, so after visiting them today, I walked the winding dirt road from my brother’s home to my land. Though chilly for May, the world was green and lush and rich with possibility. Becca and Nathan placed a chalkboard in their new studio, welcoming visitors and instructing them on how to negotiate the space. At the bottom, they wrote “a dream come true.” The words are a sweet reminder, but not necessary – the space and property is so infused with art and love that any visitor quickly becomes immersed in the dream that birthed it. You celebrate it as your own. And, so in this spirit, I stare out at my empty meadow and dream a dream large enough to fill the space. I continue my artist’s journey and envision where it will lead.

My Land

 

 

Off on an Adventure

Blogpaws I’m off on an adventure. This winter I was googling pet blogs when I stumbled upon an event called Blogpaws, a conference for pet bloggers. For someone who had launched her new blog only a couple of months before, it sounded like the perfect opportunity to learn more about blogging in general, connect and network with other pet bloggers, and participate in yet another dog-centric activity, one of my favorite things to do. To top it all off the event was in D.C. and I have an old college friend from Middlebury there, who I’ve wanted to visit for a while. I purchased my tickets on the spot.

Now the event is upon me and I leave tomorrow for my first ever Blogpaws. I understand that lots of other bloggers bring their dogs and cats  -- there is even a cat lounge – but unfortunately Waffles and Alfie have to stay at home. I couldn’t even  imagine bringing the puggies on an airplane. I don’t think they’ll be very happy with me gone. With all the doctors appointments and renovations going on at home as late, the poor pugs have had to tolerate a lot of crate time and have already expressed their desire for some R & R. I have promised them plenty of trips to the dog park this summer.

In the meantime, I am off on my adventure. I have decided to leave the computer at home, having already packed my suitcase and carry on to the max and with my tennis elbow acting up I don’t need any extra baggage! I will have my i-pad and will try to blog as much as possible, but from the schedule it looks like my days will be pretty well packed. I did download the new Wordpress App to make blogging from my tablet easier. I’m excited and a little nervous. I wasn’t sure what to pack – I understand some people are wearing jeans and teeshirts, but the videos I’ve seen show a lot of business wear. I tried to aim for something in between.  I’ve packed my new Pug & Pic business cards, which feature my blog banner on the back and some added surprises on the front. It seems to be the season for business cards. My friend, John Greenwood of Raining Iguanas, just wrote a blog post about receiving his new business cards the other day. Both John and I will be sharing readings from our blogs at the Creative Sparks reading at Hubbard Hall in Cambridge, NY on May 31st. But that’s a little down the road. I have to take my adventures one at a time.

Stay tuned for posts from Blogpaws…

 

 

Mother's Day

  The front of my Mother's Day card from Ellie

It dawned on me today how exclusionary holidays can be. For example, Valentine’s Day can be heartbreaking for those who do not have a Valentine and what if you don’t have anyone to usher in the New Year? Consider Mother’s Day for the childless woman? Sometimes, it’s not easy. That was not the case for me today. I almost forgot I wasn’t technically a mother as my niece Ellie gave me a Mother’s Day card, my nephew Christian texted me, wishing me a Happy Day (in addition to being his aunt, I am his godmother) and I scanned Facebook, noting the numerous Mother’s Day wishes to the mamas of “furbabies.” Christian even told me to say “hi” to the little ones, meaning Alfie and Waffles.  It seems that people are making an effort nowadays to make everyone feel included.

Today, Ellie became infatuated with a balloon floating in Wal-mart, announcing a Clearance Sale. She wanted to see it so I reached up and grabbed the string, pulling it down so it was at her eye level. She pulled her little hands to her chest, hugging herself and said, “Oh, Bee,” in the most endearing voice. At that moment, my heart swelled and I felt like the most important person in the world, mother or not!

Ellie's Painting

Girls and Dogs

blog girl and dog The saying goes “dogs are a man’s best friend,” but I think there may be an untold story about girls and their dogs, too.

Today, I posted a give-a-way on my blog for a boxed set of notecards featuring collages of “Girls and Dogs.” I was surprised by the comments I received both on the site and privately in e-mail because they seemed to touch a chord. Many people shared with me that they had been dog owners since they were little girls or told me they collected prints of girls and dogs. Collette wrote that she has “one daughter and always several dogs.” Peggy told a whole story about begging for a new puppy after her dog had died. I am reposting it below. Many found the notecards poignant, whimsical, and innocent. I think the traditional image of a boy and his childhood dog conjures images of innocence as well, but there is something to be said for the sweet image of little girls and their dogs.

As many of you know, I frequently photograph young girls and focus on them in my collages. I believe that when you watch girls at play you often can catch glimpses of the women they will become. Perhaps you can see some of this in the way they interact with dogs as well. When my niece Catherine was a toddler, she used to cover my old pug Buffy up with towels or small blankets when she came to visit. She would kneel by her on the floor and delicately spread the piece of cloth over Buffy’s body, pulling it up to her neck and murmuring to her as she smoothed the wrinkles. I was surprised a few years later when my pug Vader had aged and was also feeble. My niece Tori, who was too little to have observed Catherine’s ministrations years earlier, repeated almost the identical ritual with Vader, frequently visiting and spreading a dishcloth or baby’s blanket over him, talking quietly as she did so. They both nurtured in a way I could imagine them doing in the future should they become mothers.

My nephews love my pugs as well. They visit and let them out back where they throw balls for them, toss sticks and play games of chase. They frolic and laugh, but there is a different sense of more intimate interplay between my nieces and the dogs. I have witnessed my niece Tori, “training” her family’s Akita Miley, instructing her to “sit” and demonstrating the maneuver with gentle authority. Again, I can envision her as she may be as a woman, strong and authoritative, but also clear and instructive. My 16-month-old niece Ellie met my brother’s boxer Sophie for the first time the other day and acted positively coy. My sister-in-law Leah was worried that Sophie might bother the toddler so she had locked her in her crate, but Ellie was nonplussed. She went over to the crate, stuck her face to the bars and said “Dawg, Dawg.” Later, when they let Sophie loose, my mother spied Ellie playing hide-and-seek with her. At turns coy and giggling, I could picture her years later as a teenager flirting and giving the boys a run for their money.

It seems to me that dogs, which so easily read and play off our emotions, have a lot to work with when it comes to girls and their rich emotional lives. This is not to make less of the emotions of boys, who I know have hidden depths. But so often the interplay between little boys and dogs seems so genuinely simple – happy lugs loping side-by-side through childhood. The relationship between girls and dogs seems to require more inference on the dog’s part. They seem to look to the little girl and ask – what does she need: a doll to dress, a baby to mother, a playmate to tease, a companion on which to practice her blossoming flirtations? The dog, an expert at reading emotions watches and assumes the proper role, the girl finds a willing partner to act out the faces she will one day wear. There are of course exceptions, instances when this isn’t true, but for many little girls, dogs were their first great audiences and mirrors – observing their emotions and reflecting back their many facets. My collages try to capture this complex interplay – a secret world that is a precursor to the world to come, where girl becomes woman and the playmate of childhood evolves into steadfast companion.

I’d love to hear from more from female readers on what dogs meant to them as children or to any little girls they know now? What is the role of dogs in the life of a little girl and do you think that manifests itself differently than it does with boys? Please leave a comment or email me at kimbi@pugsandpics.com and let me know.

And, below here’s Peggy’s wonderful tale:

I think that I am likely the most “original girl and a dog.” In 1970, when my parents decided to move to Wisconsin, from Illinois, I was 12 years old. My German Shepherd, Blackie, who my parents bought about 6 months before I was born, had died the day before we left WI. My mom was trying to herd 4 children into her 1966 Plymouth Fury to get us to Wisconsin. The eldest, me, would not leave….not until I got the promise of another puppy.

The conversation went something like this:

Mom: “Get in the car.” Peggy: “Nope. Not until you and Dad promise me another dog.” Mom: “You can have your own room.” Peggy: “I already get that. I’m not leaving without that promise.” Mom: “You can do WHATEVER you want to the walls. Get in the car.” Peggy: “I know that, too. Please promise me another dog.” Mom: “Get in the car, it is time to go.” Peggy: “Okay. But I promise you that if I do not get another dog, you will get no grandchildren.”

So…I got into the car and off we drove to another life in WI.

I find it very synchronistic that I would come to this website (probably from a link to something else) and see these very imaginative and amazing cards that truly speak to a young girl’s love for dogs and that age of innocence.

I am an avid thank-you note writer and I find that these would be an amazing addition to my collection of thank-you cards for those “special” friends that deserve a nice pick-me up.

Now….almost 43 years later, my mom’s home just sold which is most excellent, but the doggy wallpaper that I made them put up in my room still remains. The whimsical wallpaper with such phrases as “wanna go out?” “Let’s go to the vet” still remain in that lovely old Victorian home that I spent most of last year cleaning out for my mom.

While I never had any children, I did fulfill my dream of raising and showing dogs. With almost 30 years of loving and owning Gordon Setters, I still love life and fondly recall the joys of being a young girl and LOVING dogs.

 

 

Common Thread Give-a-Way

Blog Common Thread Giveaway Kim Time for the Great Common Thread Give-a-Way and this time it's me giving away a product! This month, fresh off the presses, are note cards based on my collages. I'm calling them Collages: Girls and Dogs note card set. It is a boxed set featuring eight note cards and envelopes. There are four different designs with two cards of each design. The cards are blank but there is story about each collage on the back of the card.

To qualify to win this boxed set just leave a comment on my blog www.pugsandpics.com. And, don't forget to visit the blogs of the other participating artists. Check out Jon Katz's photography and wonderful writing at www.bedlamfarm.com. Jane McMillan at Little House Home Arts always has some terrific pincushions available on her site, which I know would make an excellent Mother's Day present. Maria Wulf has introduced a new product over at Full Moon Fiber Art -- beautiful scarves made from vintage hankies and Nancy has some terrific jewelry showcased at Spinning Glass Studio.com.

Winner of the Give-a-Way will be announced on Thursday. And, please check out my other artwork in my gallery. Full size prints are available of the four collages printed on my note cards.

Contact Sheet: Collages Girls and Dogs

Face of First Note card: Westward Window

Face of Second Note Card: Reflective Stroll

Face of Third Note Card: Truths

Face of Fourth Note Card: Slippery When Wet

 

 

 

 

Writing Prompt: Waffles' Example

Blog waffles watercolor Sometimes I sit and study my petite pug Waffles. She is a portrait of perseverance and determination. The aspects of her personality I find annoying – tipping over trashcans, jumping gates – she considers an occupation. She is steadfast in her goals and she never detours. I watch her when I awake in the morning and her pattern is always the same. She watches me, waiting for me to drop my vigilant gaze, so she can jump the baby gate that blocks her way upstairs and then she is at it – thump, thump, thump, thump. The upstairs garbage pails go down one after another like a string of dominoes. She methodically checks them for secret delights – purposely sorting toilet tissue to the left, dental floss to the right, the choice and most stinky items directly in the mouth. She does the same for each trashcan and then starts on the laundry basket, discarding socks and tees for panties. These she pulls all the way out and drags to her nesting place. She dedicates herself to the cause, neither veering right or left, freezing if she thinks I see her, going into stealth mode.

When I go to retrieve something from the spare closet located in my nephew Christian’s room, she follows, jumping up on the small desk chair and from there onto the futon in hopes of nabbing another cherished prize – a stuffed dog I had given Christian for Valentine’s Day. She knows this is not her toy, but his, and thus, it has become a thing of value. While I browse the closet, she grabs the dog in her mouth and drops it near the edge of the futon. From there, she nudges it with her nose onto the chair, and this is where she always gets caught. I turn to find her pondering the situation. She cannot figure out how to get both she and her treasure off the chair and as she stops to consider the situation, her wrinkled brow even more deeply furrowed than usual, I foil the whole scheme, grabbing her and the dog and placing it back on the futon. We repeat this again and again, every time I enter Christian’s room.

It is easy to get frustrated with Waffles. Many times throughout the day you hear one of us in the household yelling “No,” or her name sounding as a sort of warning or threat, but the more I observe her the more I realize that there is something going on here. When Waffles lived at my friend Joan’s house, she learned many skills to survive. Joan’s house, filled to the max with other dogs, becomes a jungle of sorts. It’s survival of the fitness of sorts, each pug for itself. Dog toys are few to prevent the pugs from fighting over them, and so they find their own amusements – an empty dog food can, a toilet paper roll, or a pair of discarded underwear.

Landing a place on Joan’s comfy bed becomes a coveted goal, but since Joan would be endlessly occupied if she stopped to help each one up, the pugs are left to find their own way there. They do so by jumping from the floor to a cubby by the bed and then making an almost impossible second leap from inside the cubby to the bed itself. I visited the other day and watched Waffles’ mother, sister, and grandmother each do this maneuver and realized that in her two years living at Joan’s, she too, must have done this hundreds if not thousands of times, often with a pair of Joan’s panties in her mouth. This was her life and whether I consider it nature or nurture, instinct or learned behavior, the antics she undertakes now are ingrained in her. She seems to consider them her vocation in much the same way I do my writing. It is what she wakes up for each day.

Perhaps Waffles has little choice in her fate, compelled by powerful drives to engage in these behaviors, but I admire her anyway. So often I let outside voices deter me from my goal or I see a project as too big and give up. I can yell at Waffles, put up a gate, steal her away from her finds and moments later she is right back at it. She does not give up. She is tiny and the odds are so often stacked against her. She never waivers. I watch and I learn and I wonder what drives us. Why do we move forward and why do we give up and how can such a small, black creature be so fearless when I so often am not? I think of Waffles and her sister, their mother and grandmother making that blind leap from cubby to bed and I try in my mind to do the same. It may not be model behavior, but in the end, it seems behavior to model.

Writing Prompt: What behavior do you model?

Framed

picture of collage Today, I received a wonderful surprise. One of my readers, known here on the blog as  “Grammacello,” sent me an email. She was one of the first people to buy my Limited Edition Print, “Dogs Dancing at the Carousel,” when I offered it for sale earlier this month. It seems she has framed it and hung it on her wall. She chose this cheerful red frame, which looks great with the print, bringing out the reds in the collage and casting it in a happy light. I love what she did with it. She promised more pictures to come and I hope to hear where she chose to hang it.

The print is still available in the Gallery section of this blog at the sale price of $55. I decided to leave it on sale for another month and then it goes up to $75 for a matted print.

A Quiet Day

A hush fell over the house today. I found myself alone with the pugs and my work. It was a day of rest and recovery in many ways even though I spent the afternoon transcribing tapes of notes for an article I’m writing for Vermont Property Owners Report and conducting phone interview. I also managed to correct some students’ papers for a workshop next week, but overall the house was quiet; the tapping of my computer keys punctuated by the steady snores of the pugs. We even managed to work in a nap – Alfie’s furry fawn body tucked in the curve of my legs, Waffles teeny black form perched on my hip. I smile at this. It is Waffles’ signature stance. She is the first pug I have owned that I did not get as a puppy and thus, she brings to my life fully formed habits. Yet, because I was there since her birth, visiting her breeder Joan’s house so often, I am familiar with so many of them. She has slept on my hip since birth – every time I visited her house and climbed up on Joan’s bed to play with her. Waffles, her mother Releve and grandmother TarBaby held court on Joan’s bed – three black diva’s reigning over their kingdom.  Now, Alfie and Waffles stand guard like two sentinels on my bed, watching over me as I sleep.

It is not a day of big moments, but little ones. We snacked on a bagel and cream cheese, the pugs licking the remnants off my fingers. I watched from the back door as they silently wandered the back yard. I played with my graphite and watercolor pencils sketching a drawing of my niece who had donned a Dr. Seuss wig the night before It is not the type of day of which epic stories are told, but it was the type of day from which a life is made – a small, but precious bead on a chain of memories.

Pugs Outside

Blog Dr. Seuss Catherine

My Cavalry

Blog Cavalry My spacious Woodstock hotel room with king-sized bed suddenly shrunk to the size of a small forsaken island as I sat writhing in pain. My abdominal cramps started in the morning and only got worse as the day progressed. I knew I could ask at the front desk or call someone from the writers’ festival and find out where the nearest hospital was and realized I’d have to do so soon if the pain didn’t subside, but although I felt worse than awful, I convinced myself that it wasn’t such an emergency that I had to seek outside help. My family wasn’t so easily convinced. I called home to tell them I wasn’t feeling well and my mother said she was sending someone from the front desk to my room. I made her swear that she wouldn’t and tried to wait it out on my own.

Finally, I succumbed and called her back. “I don’t think it’s an emergency exactly, but I need to come home.”

The three-and-a-half hours between home and my hotel seemed infinite as I waited, but at 10:00 p.m., thirteen hours after my ordeal had started, the cavalry arrived: my 65-year-old mother, who cannot see to drive at night and my faithful brother Mark, number two of my three younger siblings. By the time they pulled up, I was doing better. My pain had somewhat subsided and I had managed to get some liquids in me which seemed to revitalize me a bit, although did little to cure the situation. They packed me up, loaded me in my car and then began the endless journey home. I say endless because my cavalry, while full of heart, lacked something in navigational ability. We probably all should have stayed at the hotel and started fresh in the morning, but my Mom, like me, felt more comfortable dealing with the hospital at home, so we set off into the night in the totally wrong direction!

If I hadn’t been so ill, I probably would have realized sooner that we had gotten on the wrong access ramp, headed south toward New York City instead of north toward Vermont. I also should note that I was distracted by my Mom’s driving. Because she has such poor night vision she had to ride the tail of my brother, watching his taillights like a beacon in the darkness. We were at least a half hour out of our way before I noticed that the names of the cities were wrong and called my brother to inform him we needed to turn around. One hour added to the trip.

Mom and I laughed. Why are we following Mark? We asked. He’s the one who got lost in the hood. We were referring to a time many years ago when my brother was working in New Jersey. He was sent out on an errand, but missed his turn and ended up in the bad part of town. It became a family joke, one that was reiterated several times on this long night. I tried to rest, but we had to make frequent stops for me along the way adding 15 minutes here and there to our travel time. Then we missed another turn, ending up on 1-90. It wasn’t until I spotted the sign to Schenectady that we realized we were lost again and had to turn around. Hour two added to the trip.

Mark’s cellphone didn’t seem to care where it directed him as long as it eventually got him there, so we followed its lead down a series of twisted back roads through Schenectady until we finally ended up in Clifton Park, driving more back roads before finally reconnected with I-87. From here we were okay until it came time to take the exit to Rutland.

“Don’t take the first exit,” I warned my brother who informed me that his phone said otherwise. My brother’s one of those people that if directions on a tube of toothpaste say wash-rinse-and-repeat he does just that. No simple wash-and-rinse for him, he’s by the book. So we followed the book or the phone in this case, and once again ended up off the beaten path. When we finally connected with the right route we were so tired we pulled over at a closed McDonald’s restaurant where a cop stopped to make sure we were okay. When he discovered we were, he went on, but not before my Mom put the car in the wrong gear -- drive instead of reverse -- almost taking us over the bank.

Oh, I almost forgot. Somewhere around Schenectady a series of warning lights came on in my brother’s car. Turns out we weren’t driving with all cylinders and probably shouldn’t have been driving at all. The next morning we called AAA and had them tow the car to the repair shop.

At 5:00 a.m. we saw the lights of home, at least doubling our initial e.t.a. A lot of people joke about my reliance on my G.P.S. and apparent lack of direction, but obviously I come by this honestly, no doubt an inherited trait.

In spite of my exhaustion and what had now become a dull pain, I looked at my weary rescuers, my beautiful mother and kindhearted brother and thought two things: one, how rich I was in family, how lucky to be so loved and two, next time, I think I’ll call the ambulance!