You'd think Pye could find a far more comfortable spot to snooze in the sun, but no, his current favourite spot is on the hard ridged back of the cane couch. I love the way he kind of ooooozes either side as he relaxes. My cats have always been skittish, but Pye is turning into a bit of a softy (though he pretends otherwise) in his old age; my two will be ten this year. He permits me to pick him up now, protesting as I do so, but the purring and the settling into my arms gives him away.
Still obsessed with the scales. I have an idea to make something like this into a sculpture to sit on the floor, with the central oval a mirror with an eye drawn on it and the tentacles three dimensional.
PS. The Bloke managed to get the pickled onion jar open after an epic struggle, during which pickle juice threatened to erupt all over the kitchen. Victory is ours! Mmmmm, pickled onions...
I had a craving for pickled onions (no, not for any particular reason - or perhaps because I want something with TASTE since low-carb is so boring). Brought my treasure home, lusting for a burst of flavour...alas, I cannot get the blasted jar open. I tried all my true and trusted jar-busting remedies: a pair of rubber gloves (I don't wear them, just put one over the lid and one around the jar) for traction, a large rubber band around the lid (also provides grip), tapping the lid gently to loosen the seal.
I tried cussing the thing out, but it just sat there, taunting me.
Since I've had carpal/cubital tunnel syndromes, my hands are not strong, and the twisting grip required to force my way into pickled onion paradise is beyond me.
The Bloke has larger, stronger hands. I'll have to wait till he turns up for my pickle fix. Pooh!
More scales. I think I may work a couple of these up into - gulp! - paintings. I always say "I don't paint", but these seem to want to be painted. In colour. One of my teachers told me last year that a painting is not simply a drawing coloured in, but hey, not at school now!
My current drawings are using a scale pattern inspired by a vase I saw on tv on Antiques Roadshow. I'm obsessed with it. It's interesting how a particular way of mark making fires my imagination, becomes a compulsion for anything from a few days to weeks, then suddenly I wake up one morning and the infatuation is over, and I move on. (I may have blogged this before, the process fascinates me). You never can tell what will catch my eye or where. Sometimes that mark becomes part of my visual vocabulary and pops up from time to time, sometimes it never appears again.
One of last night's has stuck with me all day. I was at my ex-job, and there were massive renovations being undertaken. One of the general bugbears at that job was that a visit to the loo required a trek of near marathon proportions, and in my dream the loos had been moved even further away, down a staircase, up another, down yet more flights. From their original institutional grey concrete, ferrous red walls, narrowness and general inconvenience (oh, how I hated those stairs - they were so depressing!), as I descended and descended and descended the dream stairs gradually morphed into a grand sweeping flight of red carpet, accented with gilt and art deco lamps, brass handrails, like something out of a classic Hollywood film that Fred and Ginger would grace. These stairs finally debouched out of velvety darkness into the bright light of - wait for it! - NEW ZEALAND. Clear fresh air, snow capped mountains, crisp evergreens. My dream self was thrilled, and I wandered about enjoying the view, trip to the loo forgotten (it did occur to me this morning that my bladder was perhaps trying to tell me something, but all was well). After some time, it occured to me that I should get back to work, but someone said: "You can't go up the down staircase, you'll have to catch the tram." The dream gets a bit confused after that, but that was some tram ride - steep, dark, crowded, and at some point I was holding a raven covered in mud. Plus the trip back took two days, and half of it was on sand rather than tram tracks :)
I'm in job hunting mode, but it's very quiet on the employment market at the moment, with the end of year/Christmas/holiday quiet period. Very frustrating. There have been a few posts worth applying for but the pickings are slim. No response as yet, which is disheartening. I updated my resume (and tailor it accordingly for the positions I'm applying to), I have good cover letters, I pay attention to spelling and grammar. Sent said resume off to a couple of temp agencies, who have quoted me the "quiet period" standard.
hmm, unintended blog hiatus - longer than I realised. School is finished and I am in full on job-hunting mode. I'll catch up the blog over the next few days, but in the meantime I'm still drawing every day.
I feel like I'm in limbo now that school is actually over (at least for now - gotta find a job for the next 12 months or so, then maybe back to school for a degree). I knew it was coming, but it still took me kind of by surprise. Now I'm not sure what I'm doing with myself. Apart from job-hunting, of course :)
It's the in-between, not sure where I'm going or what will happen feeling that's bothering me. I feel the need to make a veeeerrrrry long list and take control (at least in my head).
I miss my classmates already, miss going to classes, I even miss having a deadline - who woulda thunk that! However, several ex-classmates and I have an exhibition planned, opening December 16th, so I have that to work towards. Hmmm, now which works will I put in that...and what needs a frame...do I have time/energy to make something else...
Ah-ha! I think I have fixed on a good limbo-be-gone remedy. I have startitis already.
A couple of days ago, Bel interrupted my breakfast with a peremptory "rrowwrrr!" and indicated that there was a matter of importance requiring my attendance (also known as, "follow me, right NOW!"). She led me to the windows along the back of the house, which are floor to almost-ceiling, and her brother, Pye, frantically pawing at the glass and fluffed up to twice his usual size. On the other side of the glass was a completely unfazed rodent, peering in at all of us fearlessly. Hmm, big mousie, thinks I, squinting - nope, on closer inspection, little rat. I rapped on the window but he didn't even flinch, just sat up jauntily on his back paws and washed his face. I suspect he may have been an escaped pet, being a pretty grey with a snowy white belly and obviously not unfamiliar with people and cats. I went outside to investigate further before a cat or two got so enthused they pursued their new friend right through the glass, but he was wily enough to make himself scarce. In the past, I've considered a pet rat - they are cute and intelligent - but this one might have found himself on the feline menu had he joined the family. I hope he survives in the great outdoors.
I'm 48, female, just finished a two year course in Visual Arts, and am now back in the market for a job (boo!). I worked in the library field for the better part of three decades and two years ago took the plunge from a job that made me unhappy to go back to school. I've loved every moment of it and as soon as I have enough money to tide me over being a poverty stricken student I'm going back for more!