Tricks of the Trade

Every artist’s dream, I suppose, would be to land on Carol’s Eye Candy pad.  But it didn’t start out that way for me.

In my previous life, while I was aimlessly fluttering out in the real world trying to make a living, I was a pack mule.  I lugged around samples.  Too many of them for too long.  You could find me decorated with the glorious stuff, (yup, more stuff) you see in those to die for home decorating magazines.  I might as well have worn the lamp shade on my head and draped the oriental rug around my shoulders because I needed my hands to drive the get-away car that was overflowing with all the other stuff I couldn’t wear.

That's me

So I gave it up.  It was for the birds.  There has to be more to life than moving stuff.  Although there are many kinds of birds, and when you’re used to flying, you may just need a different flock to fly with.  As so typical with me, I needed a project.   And a new landing pad.  I resorted to the all too familiar art world again.  But this time, I was going to be sensible and pick something simple.   At this stage in my life, simplicity is where it’s at.  You would think I’d fall back to something where I could use my short-handled brushes, but I’m not dead – just simple. 

My friend, April said “this summer I’m taking a class on brush calligraphy.  Why don’t you come with me, it sounds like fun.”  My brainpan kicks into gear and I’m in.  Hey, a hobby with virtually no supplies needed.  Right?  Brush (and I already had some) no problem, and all I have to invest in is ink.  Long story short, I was wrong.  I could fast-forward and bring you back to Carol’s Eye Candy Studio, but that is the end result and that would deprive you of most of the fun. 

To me, everything links up.  Like life I suppose.  Supplies we need in everyday life, we need in art too.  I can’t have one without the other.  My computer, for instance, and I have a long-lasting love/hate relationship.  When we’re on, we’re on.  But every now and then, it acts like a cranky lover and I feel that headache coming on.   And without my computer, life seems to come to a halt.  You’re there too, aren’t you?  

Not my kind of cool stuff

 

I’m degraded to begging and pleading to anyone that will listen.  My first and last place I always go to is my son.  He knows everything (when he wants to), but I’m still just his mother and not high on his priority list of “must do today.” 

My life’s on pause or more like stuck like an old rerun that’s run its' course.  I try bribing my only beloved with food.  “Thanks mom, I’ll be by tomorrow.”  So I’m left to my own devices which are always dangerous.  Next time around, “mom, quit deleting stuff (more stuff) you’re making things worse.”  Kim sits patiently waiting petting the cats that are vying for her attention and mutters under her breath “user-error.  That’s what he always tells me.” 

I don’t care, I’m just so excited that it’s going to be up and running.  Maybe.  “It’ll do for now.  I’ll be back to check the other stuff next week” he says.  Next week to him doesn’t necessarily mean 7 days.  My heart sinks and I have this huge lump in my throat like I had swallowed a jaw breaker and it had gone down the wrong pipe.  I wanted to run after him and grab his pant leg as he’s leaving crying “no, please don’t go.”  Just like I did when he went off to college. 

So that’s how it is in my studio.  In the meantime, surrounded by the innards of my computer, parts strewn about like it was a science lab and we were onto a breakthrough for a cure of something dreadful like computer failure or in my case heart failure, I’m back in business, sort of, limping along. 

Remember way back when I thought all I needed to write that beautiful sensual letter “S” was one of my sawed-off brushes and a piece of paper and  when I thought calligraphy would be a  simple and uncomplicated hobby?  Oh no!  No, no, no.  How about a coke can? 

My husband finds me rummaging through the recycle bin in his garage “What are you doing?”  He looks at me as if he’s afraid I’ve resorted to collecting cans for a living.  He has this panic stricken look on his face as he surveys my new collection of the “tools of the trade” for my new hobby.  And you know what happens next. . . because if you need to cut up a coke-can, you need tin snipes, and if you’re going to use tin-snipes, you need gloves, and if you’ve cut up tin with your gloves, you’re going to need duct tape to tape the handle, and you’ll need a dowel rod to make the handle,  and if you’re lucky you may have a forbidden table-saw, and if you sneak in to use the table-saw you better use eye-protection or you’ll be in double trouble, or as the  5 year old  neighbor says ”you’ll be in deep serious.”    Who knew?

This?  For calligraphy!!

After - Coke Can Pens

 So the Home Depot stuff stays in the Home Depot section, right in between the forbidden table saw and everything else I’m not allowed to touch, in my husband’s garage.  My coke can pens move in to their place of honor in my studio.  Charm was not a prerequisite for any of my artistic hobbies but I soon learned that it worked wonders, not only for my marriage but for weaseling my way into my husband’s space. 

Kathy shares her husband’s garage to store the over-run of her supplies too.  She is an amazing acrylic artist. 

Kathy's over-run supplies in her garage - sorted of course

My personal tip for the day:  Keep essentials close at hand and within reach.  Find a place for the stuff you need sometimes.  

Quote for today:

"A man's work is nothing but the slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened."               Albert Camus  

Meet me back here Wednesday to see why Kathy just uses her studio for the cool stuff.