And now for my next project - an otter on a utility box.   Such scale extremes in this business.  Glad to remain in the marina vicinities, nosh on sea food and enjoy the winds whistling in the wires.  

Facing the harsh realities of lifes uncertainties is always more pleasant in the company of dear friends.

Teetering on the brink of loosing my house of twenty two years I crave a steady coarse of familiar bonds.  I'm sure I could have played many things differently in my life but all in all I've no regrets.  Don't look now but here comes the seventh wave. 

The Howling Wind

This portion of the mural is finished.  The wind is howling today.  Made for a nice walk along the seashore.

28' x 64'

A day at the museum with Heidi and KK - featuring The Calder Jewelry.  His wife has or had my same initials and there were several pieces I could legitimately wear.  

Great quote from David Yurman - My wife is my muse.  Since she is an artist, I look for unusual things, such as artifacts, rare art books or great paper for her to draw on.  This year I designed a one-of-a-kind Madison watch with canary-yellow diamonds -  her favorite - on a black satin strap (price on request).

After work I take advantage of the location and hike the loop out Shelter Island.  Always a spectacular sight to see the cruise ships slither past the Point.  And then my mural with the lights shut off.  It will be a sad day when the scaffolds come down and our physical contact is severed but also great happiness to have given her life.

This is our spot on the Trinity.  Every year the high waters rearranged

 the sand bars and the configuration was entirely new.  The diving rock on the right burned hot in the summer sun.  Excellent for roasting your bones if you stayed in the cool water too long.  You can barely see it but there are stones below the surface maybe 10 to 12 feet down.   Diving for white rocks was a common game and running across the bottom with a big one in your arms another.  

In the late afternoon the breeze whirled slow circles of leaves down the gorge.  Pollywogs could be found in shallow pools and a fresh spring to drink from was nestled in the ferns.  Gramps often left a watermelon there in case we couldn't last to supper.  Of all the things we miss of childhood I am convinced it's unanimous we all miss the Trinity.  Going back individually never quite feels the same as it's the voices of others that makes the place.  

Never a broken bone or terrible fall or near drowning occurred.  Danny sliced his leg once wipping his blade on his leg while cleaning fish.  Standing in the shallows once I got caught in quick sand up to my knees but everyone said it was my imagination.  Gramps handed me the end of his pole and said just lay into it.  Pulled downstream and there was nothing to it. 

And all the while I was having fun I was dreadfully homesick.  I looked south over the mountain and grieved even when I was a young adult.

Rebecca - the youngest and the only one to birth twins.  The last one in our home town and I'm sure that does not sit right with her.  She and mom were very close, seen often cuddling during movies.  It's as if she finally let her guard down and said hell with it, I'm going to enjoy this one.  By then everyone was on their way out putting their energies in other places besides rivalries. 

All loving gestures were keenly observed and precious to me. Watching people kiss is an all time high.  I've heard many people say they don't know it.  Never saw their parents kiss or hug.  Perhaps this could be another coarse for reentry to Earth - Affection 101 - the art of showing people how much you love them.  I suppose it's a learned skill.  All that cuddling  made it an obvious thing to do with her grandson.  Hours and hours of just being close.

Another flip for your viewing pleasure.  

I think the fascination is a right brain left brain synchronization.  Feels Good!

A favorite quote...     "Send me some sample boards in a sort of latte color, but with a bit of ecru or one of each.  Perhaps they should read toward putty, you know, like parchment, but not lineny.  Do not make it too camel or vellum.  Try one in ecru and sand.  While your at it another in sisal or fawn.  Make sure it doesn't go oatmeal, nougat or raw silk.  I hate those colors.  They are so eighties.  Shell, suede or wheat is OK.  Can I get them tomorrow?"

....... Anges Liptak, decorative painter

To celebrate Halloween - introducing Me and My Seven Sisters of Which I Am the 7th.  Special thanks to my friend Kitty of Colorado as she purchased the little characters on Tijuanas Revolucion Blvd on one of our many South of the Boarder Tours.  She knows most of their names and stories by heart - without a chart.  Of coarse I would be the one in the gold glitter gown cause I'm her favorite.  Shadow box compliments of IKEA.

Sounds like fart soup.

Back Out Research - is it copying or is it sharing?

I should get up and try moving around.  I should make my own dang video.

I should make original art and sell it at interesting prices.

I should be more charming and popular.  I should floss more often.

I should stop bleating about how weird life has become.

It's hard to decide which I like best the image or the sound????

It's decided - the sound - must memorize this song.

It will greatly enhance the road trip of my life.

Firekites - AUTUMN STORY - chalk animation from Lucinda Schreiber on Vimeo.

I am getting all these videos from one blog called ThingsILikeToLookAt.

They're all worthy of sharing.

For some reason I don't have my sister Geraldines graduation picture.  I asked her for it and this is what she gets for not responding.  It's yuky to be left out so I'm hoping she'll comply with my request.  I don't have the official ones for Gail or Charles either.  

My friend Dale says he keeps a notebook so that he can keep all their stories straight.  It's hard enough just remembering their names.  He'll use home towns as a reference.  "Oh - she's the one from Mississippi."  Helps put two and two together.

Just so you know - Mom and Dad are Gerald and Patricia, Gail Irene, Judith Lynn, Thora Catherine, Mary Ann, Geraldine Patricia or Geri Pat, Cynthia Jean, Daniel Gerald, Linda Joan, Charles Vernon and Rebecca Sue.  

A short quiz later in this journal.  Don't get me started on all the grandkids.  Facebook has been a very helpful tool in getting them all on one page.

This is my Grandpa Church - Commander of the Coast Guard Station at Humbolt and Master Gardener at Willow Creek.  This guy had fruit trees that could make you weep.  He took us kids in every summer.  Worked us hard but then we played for hours on that gorgeous of rivers The Trinity.  On occasion we'd get pulled out of bed in the dark of morning and off in the truck we would go up the logging roads that wove the Alps of Northern California.  We had such great adventures and all the while he would be pointing off in the distance at some big bird on a limb or bear tracks or the tail end of a mountain lion as it scurried away.  And within miles of our return to the house we all hollered Hey Gramps - Turn Your Hat Around which meant we want to go really fast.  In the back of a truck 30 miles an hour seemed like an out of control slide.  

They sold that ranch when they felt too old and needed access to better health care.  My Grandfather sat in a hospital bed as a double amputee for eight years.  He begged to be taken out of there.  I'm convinced if he had known his route he would have preferred a massive coronary on B Deck with the melons and not be discovered for weeks.  HealthCare ShmelthCare - this is a lesson to be learned for us all.  Who wants to vegetate in an environment where you never get to see the stars or the seasons or hear birds or the distant swells of the sea.  We ought not to fear death so much that we put ourselves in these kinds of states.  You know how it feels after having a cold and you get yourself out of bed and start moving about newly invigorated.  Well the opposite is the life draining experience of never getting out of that bed and then slithering into that satin lining of eternity.   Resist at all costs.  Go out with a bang - smiling!

Everything from his estate was divided between his two sons.  Since my father died on Xmas day that puts my StepMother in charge and she says she wants to take a year to decide.  We are all on pins and needles wondering.  Three houses full of antiques, photos, guns, rings, trophies, cameras, journals, paintings, needle pointed stools, figurines,  medals, bibles, tools, chaise lounges, a quiver and bow.  She could haul it all off to Mexico if she so chooses.  I told him to write a will.  There may be one.  It's not the getting of things that is important.  I just know the contrast of feelings when something is given and when it is not.  That feeling will stay in our guts for ever.  A voice from beyond the grave 'Here baby, I wanted you to have this'.  If silence is all that comes the effect will be brutal.  Ten children left dumbstuck.  Any semblance of cohesion  in the bonds of heritage, heirs to our humble histories, chewed up and cast aside as unworthy children.  It comes with the territory of growing up in such a large family.  To be singled out as special was a constant issue.  Heaven for bid you should have something more than the others.  The daggers would fly.  Jealous rivalries plait our very cores.  If you got a pat on the head the others lined up 'pat me too'.  

We discussed long ago his writings.  I told him I would take them as far as they could go.  "Who do you want to play you Dad - Michael Cain, Sean Connory, Jack Nickalson?"  It would be amazing to hear it all from his perspective.  What did he think of us, what did he crave or lose in life?  I will not beg for these journals.  The fire will go out in my desire to write this story.

I am at a stage in my life where I am letting go of things.  It's not the things that I want from him.  More than anything I want for the others a gesture.  A gift from him that I know will be cherished way beyond it's intrinsic value.  A pleasant closing of a chapter - I so long for it to end that way.  

This is my Grandfather Early - one of the kindest souls that ever walked the planet.  When he was widowed Francis came along post hast.  She was very keen on hoarding every conceivable asset for her own daughter.  Thus the acres of redwood trees that surrounded my Great Grandmothers spread were timbered.  A beautiful patch of land that was home to the Hendersons, Earlys, Bugbees, and Churchills is barren and one woman holds the wealth that was gleaned from it.  It is so hideously wrong and could cause such incurable insanity if one thinks about it too much.  I don't even know Francis daughters name - in case I wanted to seek her out and give her an Indian burn on her arm.

This is my Aunt Irene.  She shot through to the other side Monday night - 10.5.09.  She and my Uncle Scunkle left the beautiful green of Eureka to come live in the valley to be near our family.  That's proof of love man.  One of my favorite books God Winks talks about synchronicity and how God is winking at us and the more you get it the more it happens.  Lovely Aunt Irene winked at me all the time.  She was just a happy hearted soul.

This is my mothers high school picture.  I just heard last night that she assisted my Aunt pass over.  Irene kept saying 'Pat's here'.  I asked my little sister Rebecca if she has had any encounters of a supernatural kind.  She said no.  We both agreed that we really thought we would have because she was into that kind of thing.  No doubt she was a consummate prayer and she is out there rallying for us.  She also played by the rules so perhaps it's frowned upon to poke the veil.  

I MISS YOU MAMA!

One of my own mosaic projects.  San Diego Home & Garden did a 7 page spread and then didn't post my contact info.  For an artist struggling in this economy that was like a bridge collapse.  Just take me out and shoot me!

You see this image all over San Diego as the greatest tribute to the fishing industry.  I for one am voting for the tuna.  Apparently there are no more big fish in the sea - tuna, salmon, bass varieties.  Meaning none of these animals grow to adulthood.  The whole idea of catch and release is cruel.  How many times does a fish have to fight for its life with a hook in its jaws so that mankind can get its rocks off.  If it takes three guys to reel in a big one I call that cheating.  I wish we could all just step off the planet for about 50 years and let things come back into balance.  Then everybody takes a course in Earth 101 before being granted reentry.  How to be a proper guest, how to not take more than you need, how to make it a mutually rewarding experience for all.  Mostly how to create and have fun without stimulants, machines or domination over others.  

The Used Muse

This is my submittal for the Day of The Dead Show at Studio Maureen in South Park (Beech St.)  Last night was the WalkAbout under a brilliant full moon and Joe Grant had a killer BlueGrass Band in his lovely store next door.  

Joe Grant took me flying earlier this year.  The windows were open and I could hang out to shoot pictures.  Will post some of those later.  Use to fly as a kid with my Dad.  Remember one early morning before the sun was up we were over the Sacramento River Delta.  It shone silver against a black background and I had no idea the place even existed.  I had been up and down that valley a thousand times.  A vast net of waterways that I hope someday to paddle around in.

So the idea behind my little darlin skeleton - she is kicking up a little dust in her favorite boots against a night sky that like no other in that desert land.  She's up to no good getting the neon to spark just to enjoy the show.  She's got an attitude - like a ghostly presence she moves around the desert unseen.  

I have a guardian angel who is also a giant.  Use to scare me as a child as no matter where I hid he always had an eye on me.  He saved my life once when I passed out in a car reeking with gas fumes.  He told me to open my eyes and then to open the door.  Clear as a bell.  I did as he said.  If I had not my friend and I would have been discovered the next morning dead.  I was brain dead for a couple of weeks.  Belching fumes and a hysterectomy down the road.

I like to visualize my giant greeting giants of other people.  A tilt of a hat, a nod.  They don't speak much.  Don't need to.  They are focused on weaving my path directed towards that which I find satisfying in life and diverting danger away.  I have tried to give him a name but nothing seems to fit.  

With special guest Linda from Las Vegas where it's only 115 two months out of the year. And what's that special glowing light thing hanging on my elbow?

Pot of Creme and Espresso at Cafe Chloe of course.  Although Chloes without Kraus is snarly -  as in - we missed the Snarling Mouse.  Slob Habitual, Andrew Gorgon, Sick Twice, Highly Swollen, Spilly Jilly, Hank Blaze - the lot