Saturday, July 26, 2014


Our wee exhibition is down and the next one is going up as we speak. My drawings are safely under my bed again, except two: I sold a piece that wasn't going into the exhibition until I needed something different-looking for the poster, (first pic, pen drawing on white paper below the big B/W piece,) and the navy blue monoprint that went on the wall because there was space at the very end, (first pic, bottom.) Sam sold not only the curvy ink on gray paper piece at the top of the same pic, but also the beautiful washy piece to the right of it. (Dang, I have great taste: I wanted one of these!) Annabelle sold the big white-and-blue oil painting on her individual wall. And the bonus was, Donna at the gallery suggested we leave some of our work for the shop part of the gallery, so all my framed pieces and some of Sam and Annabelle's paintings were left behind. Thank you again, our cheering section, and Roger, Vicky, and Donna, and husbands.

We've received varied and interesting comments on the way we hung our work, positive and negative. Unfortunately we three haven't had time to debrief, but hope to in a week, after Annabelle the musician survives a couple of concerts/productions, before my Oz trip.

* * * * *

The title of this post refers to my personality.

I love meeting people, seeing new techniques and art works, and talking about them. That's possibly the best part of being a maker. But I have a low threshold of the amount of information I can take in at once, (partially because I talk too much,) and I need longer than others to really understand, and then forever after that to learn from the discourse. And I have to do this by myself, in silence, not just externally but internally, mulling over each word, image, expression. This is why I love my hermit life and treasure my alone time. And I do work completely alone.

And both sides are the real me.

Something like the swapsies-making bring out the best and the worst in me: I want to give everybody something equally well-made and personal, (as much as I can make them personal under these circumstances,) and to that end I don't mind spending a whole day. If it leads to starting conversations and making friends who were hitherto unknown to me, or discovering something new about an old friend, it's well worth it. (Equally I don't like junk, and I'm discerning about trinkets, and I loathe the idea of anyone spending money on what my friend Rosie calls instant landfill just to take part in the swap, let alone giving one of them to me.)

But I have been picturing myself at the dark corner of the room minding my own business making my own books, thinking about Dad and perhaps shedding a tear or two, or balling my eyes out. In other words, my usual MO in drawing classes. The gregarious exchange of trinkets was so contrary to that vision and why I am going to the workshops, and that completely threw me. I lost a couple of night's sleep, too. But I'll get over it.

In February I hoped to meet up with as many people as possible in Oz. I'm seeing all but one, and I know I will cherish each and every one of them and be totally stimulated as all of them are makers. But I didn't include enough alone time in between, and I'm going to be exhausted if I don't pace myself.  It's the same old performance anxiety. But I'll get over it.

* * * * *

After Trinket Thursday came Foto Friday when I finally sorted out the rest of the material. I have too much at the moment, but even if I don't cull, at least I have everything I need; if I take the time to cull, and I still have time, (but Ben thinks it's too late to post,) all the better. 

So I will either weave all next week, or weed, or do a bit of both.

* * * * *

You know my woven paintings, and how I said I would never ever not-on-my-life do them again? I keep thinking of a bigger version, possibly in combination with my I-hate-getting-old theme. Just saying.

* * * * *

Three pics from our Arizona days, academic year 1963-64. Listen carefully and you'll hear my mom scream and laugh when she sees these! Ben scanned Dad's slides.
Probably Saguaro National Park
A young and carefree couple with one kid; I wonder if I took this.
Mom used to sew a lot and I had either a top and shorts or a dress from the same fabric as her dress.
Oh, the Rambler. We were a two-car family for a year. 
Funny, in my mind, this is a more stylish, sleeker car!!


  1. I look at these pics, Connie, and remember how much dad did for the rest of us until about the time he stopped teaching and went to management. That changed him in lots of ways, partly his age no doubt, (63-ish) but suddenly everybody else became his staff! Too easy to forget the Fun Dad part, even though he was scary, too.


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