Old Dogs and New Tricks

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"You can't teach an old dogs new tricks." So goes the old saw. By now, I am a prime example of how unreliable that old saying is. This old dogs just keeps learning tricks. While preparing for two art shows, spending time getting to know and appreciate my Wacom pen, and keeping up with the lively Sheltie who runs our place, I faced a longtime challenge. For years, Microsoft Excel sat there in my hard drive and I never went near it. The term spreadsheet made my blood run cold. I had all but taken a vow to never tackle the job of learning. Let others make their spreadsheets, I reasoned. I would continue to stumble along with my little calculator and my scribbled notes on odds and end of paper and sometimes actually getting information into my computer.

A few days before the flu bug took me down, it became clear to me that I could no longer deal with my so-called record keeping and I was sick of calculating the same numbers over and over, ad nauseum. I knew I would have to learn a new piece of software and wasn't eager to deal with the inevitable headaches that would entail, but plunged into the fray anyway.

With the help of the Internet, I sailed through—well, for me it was relatively sailing through—in a couple of days and absorbed the basics of creating an Excel spreadsheet along with formulas and formatting. Whoduthunkit? Now, of course, I am kicking myself for not having learned this years ago. Formulas are the cat's pajamas. No more calculating and recalculating with each slight alteration in figures. Enter a new amount in column C and whammo!, the formula takes care of all that number crunching across all those columns. Excuse me for gushing, but as one seriously intimidated by numbers, this equals a little bit of magic for me. I may even become a spreadsheet fanatic.

I am not yet the full strength version of Anita—I am productive for very few hours any give day, but I am getting closer to recovery. I have another art show to prepare for—more coming about that soon. Besides, Galen has been going through an allergy reaction that has cut back on everyone's sleep. As soon as possible, I will post more about the next show. I am already a tad anxious about all the work to be done. I need a robot to take care of oh, so many details.

The image above is from a very old photograph and one that I barely liked enough to keep in the files. I never found any reason to share it and kept it only because each time I stumbled across it it reminded me of a beautiful display that I had the good fortune to witness. I haven't yet found how to make this work to my satisfaction, but at least I have reached a point, recently, where I am willing to share a version with you. Perhaps there is enough here that, with some imagination, you will have an inkling as to what captivated me and convinced me to hold on to a deeply flawed photograph. Sometimes, it is enough to have files that serve only to jog our memories, to remind us (perhaps when we most need it) that there is much in our lives that is sublimely beautiful and needs neither explanation nor excuse for being.

Apologies

I have tried my best, this morning, to come up with a clever and amusing post to cover for my absence and rudeness to a couple of kind folks who left comments. Ultimately, I got nothing. I will blame it on the high fever.

I have been yucky sick. Let's just sum it up with the one smarty statement. Soon, they will have a spot reserved for me at the emergency room of one of the hospitals in Bakersfield and, trust me, it isn't because we donated a wing to the campus.

Back soon. Rip-roaring with energy and all sorts of enthusiasm for new work and good things on the horizon. And, that's not fever talking.

Blue Horse and Other Dreams

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These days, I am not only dreaming about blue horses, but all the art show deadlines on my calendar.  A framed print of the blue horse above sold in October and will be part of the next show on the horizon.

At the end of this month, I will be part of the Bear Valley Springs Cultural Arts Spring Show. Of course, any sane person would simply have filled in the entry form with names of pieces currently hanging on the walls in our house and that would have completed my preparation. However, that sane part would describe someone else. Certainly not me. Instead of taking the easy path, I am working on something new for this show that has raised a whole bucket-load of questions and new challenges. I won't get into details until I know that it either has worked or turned into a flop. I am sane enough to have provided myself with a backup in case this experiment fails. You can bet that I will eventually let you know how the experiment goes.

Each artist is limited to five pieces and for this show I have decided to go with all equine prints. With the publishing of this post, you will have seen all the images to be used for the show. When I get closer to the show, I will publish a link to the five pieces and let you see my portion of the big annual show and social event here in Bear Valley Springs.

You can get more background on the horse above, how this piece evolved, and how it is displayed at Anita Jesse.

The Power of the Pen

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My recent distraction can be blamed partly on my early Valentine gift and what it set in motion. Nothing against roses, but this present beat flowers all to heck.

For a long time, I have flirted with the idea of getting a Wacom tablet. The masks I paint for my serious work are maddening and I was reasonably certain the pen would save me a great deal of time. Still, I dragged my feet over the cost and a couple of other doubts. One, I have been using a mouse for about thirty years now and wasn't sure how quickly I would adapt. Second, the problems with my right hand caused me some concern. The recent surgery took care of both instances of trigger finger, but I still get cramps in that hand—in a different part of my hand, curiously enough. I didn't know how long I would be able to hold the pen without a problem.

Finally, I stopped stalling and told The Husband I had decided what I wanted for Valentine this year. When I put in my request, he said it sounded like something I should get right away. Well, I'm no fool and took him up on the offer. It was pretty much love at first sight. I wouldn't say that I am already one hundred percent efficient with the pen; but, I can definitely say that it is a winner in my book.

Sure enough, I have to limit my time with the pen. Early on, I got one of those cramps because I got a little carried away. But, no problem. I am quite content doing all my set-up work with the mouse and just using the pen for finishing work. "Finally", you are probably saying. You are right. It is a little embarrassing to admit it took me so long.

The piece above (also posted at my business site) was the first piece I worked on with the pen and I am now a confirmed Wacom fan. Jump on over to Anita Jesse for the non-techie story on this piece.

Gremlins, Surprise Sales, and Such

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The guest who arrived the day family departed was one of my ex-students. She is an absolute delight and we were so pleased that she took time out of her busy trip to California to spend some of it with us. As noon last Wednesday approached—her scheduled time to hit the road, she announced that she needed a few minutes to browse through my prints once again. I was thrilled that she wanted to spend a few more minutes with my work and I encouraged her take her time with her final tour. After all, her energy was a tonic for us and I hated to see her leave.

She moved slowly from one viewing section to another, hall to room to another hallway, then said, "I brought one blank check with me just on a whim." I didn't grasp the meaning of the sentence and how it connected with her tour of the prints. It turned out she wanted to buy a framed print. I was taken aback, but obviously pleased at the turn of events.

After considerable deliberation, she returned again to the image above (repeated posting here), and said that she couldn't resist the one with the gremlin on his back. I chuckled because when I completed that piece, I hadn't a single thought about gremlins. Then Steve Weeks (Steve doesn't have a blog to link to. Wish he did) posted a comment and asked about the creature on the horse's back. Well, of course, since that time, I can't not see the beast. How I ever missed it is now beyond me.

After Steve's comment,  my first impulse, frankly, was to fix it. I seriously considered reworking the piece immediately, reprinting, and ridding the  horse of his gremlin burden. But, the more I thought about it the more I knew it wasn't the right thing to do. That gelding has had a demon on his back for years. He was, apparently, mistreated as a youngster and never fully regained his trust in humans. He was a one-woman horse. You could easily sense the wildness in him. Since I have often talked about allowing my subconscious mind to play its role in my creative life, it seemed quite hypocritical to deny all that by throwing out something that made it all the way to print and show without my conscious mind ever catching on. To deny my work philosophy along with the horse's story and erase these influences after the fact didn't ring true. Ultimately, I let the work stand.

It seemed fitting that there was surprise to complete the strange story of this image. The last thing on my mind while our charming guest was with us was art sales. Her purchase was a delicious surprise and I shouldn't have been shocked that she chose a piece that had already offered some surprises.

Update: The material in this post (with slight revisions) is currently posted at my Fine Art Prints blog.

Hanging Pictures



No, I didn't fall off the planet. But, once or twice, it was the fingernails that saved the day. We learned, on relatively short notice, that we were the lucky hosts of the family reunion. Note that I say "relatively short notice" that is short compared to how much needed doing to prepare for the arrival of the group. Since I got a little carried away with art shows last year and produced quite a bit of new work, that meant piles of frames collected and were stuck on the floors. I began to notice that the room once designated (only by me) as "the gallery" (any normal person would have recognized it as the formal dining room) had considerable less floor space than when we first first moved in. It had even crossed my mind that the room would soon shrink to the point of becoming a hallway to nowhere.

How could this happen, you ask? Well, for one thing, when we moved in, this house was only about four years old and the walls still had a lovely coat of mostly uninterrupted paint. This became a thing with The Husband. While I have mentioned more than once what a catch he is, he is human—yes, there is a flaw here and there. He had adopted this notion that he didn't want "a bunch of nails" in the wall. We had hung a few things that I talked him into, along with a few picture shelves, and I had used a bunch of easels as well as the fireplace mantel. Yet, we had a warehouse of frames leaning against walls and an expanse of lovely empty walls. Beautifully painted. Clean. Boring. Empty. Walls.

While we are on The Husband's eccentricities—you hear about mine all the time—the period leading up to house guests has become quite predictable in our home. I have played my part in this little ditty dozens of times in the 30+ years we have been married. If there is any notice at all, I begin making an effort to clean the place up as soon as I get the word that guests are coming. I immediately sense panic, because of course I am always in the middle of some all-encompassing project. On each occasion, I had managed to virtually overwhelm myself with ambitions and deadlines leaving no time for the routine of housework. And, equally inevitable was The Husband's response to my rising panic. "Don't be silly. No one cares what the house looks like. You make too much over it. Stop fretting and relax."

Many years ago, I would fall for that line. Such naivete. Soon however, I learned that it was a trap. A devious, seductive, but stinking trap. Every time I would be rocking along, focusing on my all important, new and wonderful adventure at whatever, oblivious to the impending storm. Then, suddenly one morning, the man I lived with would be replaced by this obsessed person who could talk about nothing except what needed to be picked up, put away, thrown away, washed, dusted, or just generally fixed. I know, you are probably saying why not let him clean and count my blessings. That is because you have never been through this whirlwind.

Soon, he's interrupting me with "What can I do with this junk of yours? Can I throw this out? Do you need this anymore? I'm taking all this junk to the dump, anything you want?" Needless to say, any possibility of concentrating on my project is impossible and I get sucked into the whirlwind.  Well, I am on to him now. When he says, "Don't worry. No one cares, but you", I smile (mostly) and continue cleaning. I am on to his tricks.

This time, the place had gone completely to pot. The end of last year was about art shows and a new web site. January was about being sick. Housecleaning? No way. To top it all off. We had family leaving on a Tuesday morning and another house guest arriving that afternoon. It was going to be interesting. But, this time there was a surprise.

About two weeks before the guests were due here—right on schedule, he walked into my warehouse meant to someday be my gallery, scanned the piles of frames, and announced, "We need to hang this stuff on the walls." Fortunately, I was near a door jamb and didn't hit the floor. I hustled to my studio, nervously grabbed the ever-ready hangers and hammer (and I was never even a Girl Scout!), and said, "Where shall we start?" I was so startled, I couldn't believe it would last.

For days, we spent part of each day hanging prints. In between, I dusted, washed, put away, and cleaned alongside this transformed creature—always anxious about when the old and familiar man might reappear. Fortunately, there was no relapse and, over several days, more nails were tapped into place until the house was transformed. At the end, he stood back and said, "Wow, the place looks great."

I am still pinching myself and periodically have to browse through all the rooms marveling at all my work hanging. It seems that the gallery spread quite a lot beyond the walls of what was built to be a dining room. When the dust settled and the last guest left, last Wednesday, I was bleary-eyed with exhaustion, but smiling. And, I am still smiling.

A Cloud of Dust

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I love watching a horse just turned out and eager to work out the kinks. Here, Night was feeling especially good and relishing every moment of his freedom. You can almost hear him snorting and whistling as he kicked up the dust—coiling and uncoiling those muscles, celebrating his power.

When I work on an image such as this one, I always think of Mark Graf, since he has mentioned on numerous occasions revisiting images. This is one of those that I shot years ago and have always known that eventually I would know what I wanted to do with it. Finally, in late last year, I could see this one and knew where I wanted to go with it. In the past, I wasted a great deal of time worrying an image, attempting to force it to give up its secrets. Over time, I finally found the patience to interrupt these struggles, listen, and discover, finally, what is locked inside an image. It is amusing to me that when I finally have found my way, I can't imagine why I didn't see it all along.

As usual I have gotten myself into all sorts of things in the last couple of weeks. To top off the distraction angle, we have a houseful of guests arriving in just over a week. During my nasty cold, I let the house devolve into chaos and now it is catch-up time. As if that weren't enough, I have been on a roller coaster with my back: getting dramatically better; no, snapped back into deep mind-numbing pain. I stubbornly cling to optimism about this all being a positive sign. I went for a walk about a week ago and, while I could barely put one foot in front of the other by the time I got back to the backyard gate, it was exhilarating and I can't wait to do it again. I am determined to improve during this coming year.

I can't blame all of my absence on pain, house cleaning and rehab. My recent distraction is partly due to the influence of Roberta Murray. I caught on immediately to the fact that Roberta is a very smart lady. Thus, when she mentioned an article on art marketing, I ran to the site and was almost immediately hooked. I have been soaking up information and not giving anything back. That is nothing to brag about. My fascination isn't just with the articles about selling. Many of my favorites are about painting techniques and, since I never studied painting, my mind has been awhirl with some new-to-me and wondrous information, as well as some validation of my own blundering discoveries. Thank you, Roberta.

Of course, there is always something going on in the computer department. Recently, The Husband and I spent one fun afternoon, rewiring the maze of cables under my desk. Oh, boy, that was a fun time. It was well worth the effort, however, because I have better access to some switches and little things such as this simplification can make a big difference.

Although I have only scratched the surface, I will resist the effort to talk about all the things I have cooking now—such as working feverishly on some new pieces. Instead, I will save the rest of my jabbering for another day.

Groundhog Day

                             

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Forgetting about Groundhog Day is typical for me. Having grown up south of the Mason-Dixon Line, Spring almost always seemed to come fairly early. Besides, it wasn't something you looked forward to with intense longing, almost desperate to escape long, dreary days of snow and ice. Our winters were fairly mild. Although we have four seasons up here, we still can't complain about long, bitter winters. We get off quite easy compared to those of you in the north.

So far this year, Old Man Winter has pretty much ignored us. We have had cold days and hard freezes at night —our lowest temperature of 9.6 degrees one night; yet, over all, winter has felt more like an unusually cold autumn. All that rain last year must have depleted our five-year supply, because we are sorely needing moisture here. Of course last year we had enough snow to last me a couple of years; but, this year we have so little it isn't worth mentioning. Since the old-timers in our valley tell us the colder winters are more typical up here, last year was a throwback it would seem.

I am not forgetting, however, that we still have February and March to go, and last year that is when we had the majority of our snow. I am not going to pack the snow boots away just yet. 

Molten Lava Sky

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Absolutely minimal processing. One tweak of exposure. A tiny bit of noise reduction because it was shot with the G7 at ISO 400, at least. Maybe 800. No Kidding.

We were on our way back from Los Angeles, Thursday, and The Husband decided on a whim to take the all-freeway route back home. We had both just commented on what a beautiful day it had been with the air still clean and fresh from the rain earlier in the week. We were crossing the Mojave Desert when the sun began to dip to the horizon and we could see we were headed for a lovely sunset. We couldn't have known we were in for this treat. The Husband pulled off the freeway in the Mojave Desert and we stood, for some time, gaping at this giant cloud looking more like molten lava than any cloud I have seen. I wish I had been carrying a wide angle lens and a camera to do this justice, but just watching this marvel was reward enough. Any record at all was a bonus for me.

The Bad Backs in the Family

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The last post called for a follow-up. My delay is due to one of those unscheduled rest breaks. But, I am on the way back.

Although Night is not out of the woods, The Husband reports that he is 60 to 70 percent improved. Judging by your comments, you will want to know that the gelding has not been in constant pain, limping about and miserable. The tenderness in his back only shows up on examination after a relatively rigorous workout. Of course, horses are stoic creatures. All the stories of the animals dying in harness or finishing a race on a shattered leg bear witness to that stoicism. If you ask a horse who trusts you to keep going, he will likely do his utmost to please you. The Husband pays very close attention to any trouble signs to assure that his horse isn't put in pain.

The report from the husband, after a test ride on Friday is that Night is around 60% improved. Better, but not out of the woods. Today, blood is being drawn to check for any other irregularities that might be contributing to the back soreness. The Husband has been searching for answers for some time now. He is not excited about either of the choices should the problem persist indefinitely. He can give up ever riding endurance and turn the gray into a pasture ornament, or purchase a new horse for endurance races and turn the gray.... 

Neither of us is excited about adding another mouth to feed, not to mention the inevitable medical bills. I shudder when I think of all the money that has been spent trying to solve these issues with Night. Horses are expensive animals to keep. Buying one is only the tip of the iceberg. And, we are not the type of people who can discard one when he is no longer serving the purpose you had in mind. Especially in this current economy, if you own a horse, you have a commitment that should be honored.

As to photographing the adventure last week, don't think it wasn't on my mind. I almost didn't write the post, because I thought "What is the point, if there are no photos to tell the story?"

However, as much as I would like to have taken a stab at making a photo-record, during the first part of the session, I was quite occupied. The gelding had just been let out after a trailer ride and was being handled by a stranger in a strange location. He was, shall we say, in high spirits. Completely relaxed on safe turf, horses can be downright sedate. Away from home, strange hands, some breeds especially get quite hot.

Night's nostrils were extended. Every muscle tensed to cope with all the unfamiliar stimuli. These are prey animals and they really appreciate predictability, not the unknown. We were on a somewhat narrow drive. I was busy staying out from under the gray's feet (have you ever noticed how quickly those feet can move?), while sidestepping Corgis (three of them), staying out of serious mud puddles, and steering clear of the edge of the drive that dropped off at a steep enough angle to get my attention. Plus, remember that I am a long way from agile. For The Husband, dodging the fast action was a piece of cake.

For the second part of the session, Chip and Night were in a covered 12x12 outdoor stall (read very poor light). The action was fleeting and extremely subtle. There definitely wasn't room in there for a slow-moving woman with a camera. Moreover, Chip was quite cordial, but struck me as a private and all business type of guy. I didn't think he would appreciate the idea of being turned into a photo-op. Still, if I were a talented photo-journalist as several of you are (Paul, in particular, comes to mind), I probably would have found a way. As it was, I was so mesmerized by the unfolding scene that I remained quite content just paying attention to every detail I could absorb. I would need to see this man work a few times before I felt comfortable attempting to record the story. For now, I have to settle for words.