"Up To No Good" challenge follow up....

Up to no good, you can say that again! It's been more then a year and I haven't gotten back to you all about this challenge.  A friend and I gave each other a challenge of going into a very junky- junk store and buying what ever struck our fancy and then creating a wearable work of art from our finds. Well at least I finished it.  The necklace has been created for some time now, using the elements that were purchased from this store which is one of my favorite local haunts.   The necklace had some issues as the brass ring that I was using just didn't want to cooperate. I had tried to use the ring cut up into several pieces then linked together with jump rings. Finally I got my noggin screwed on right and added the chain and only used part of the ring. A small cheat as this wasn't from the store but it improved the necklace tremendously.

The name of the challenge was called up to no good because it felt like fun rather then work.  There were many aspects to this challenge that made it fun. My favorite part of the challenge was to find beauty in what seemed to be discarded.  I also liked how there are hidden messages in things if you are open and tuned in.  While digging around in card board boxes (mind you nothing is priced and randomly laid out)  I found a bunch of old military buttons and long out dated Missouri tax tokens. Amongst these rusty dusties there was one tiny silver medal that read "MY OWN SELF AT MY VERY BEST ALL THE TIME."  A tall order to follow indeed, but something worth striving for.  

Upon these discoveries and the final completion of this necklace I will call it a  talisman and wear it with pride, dignity and  honor.

Venus de Milo

In 1820 on the Aegean island of Milos amongst ancients city ruins a peasant farmer named Yorgos Kentrotos found buried in the ground the famous statue of Venus de Milo. He was digging for stones to perhaps build a wall with. I wonder how many time he hit her head with his shovel before he realized she was a Goddess. Maybe this is why her ponytail was broken off.   This would be Yorgos's claim to fame unearthing the Greek Goddess of Love.  Little did he know, the tumultuous fights she would ensue.  A regular fem fatale, honestly she's just a rock that was carved into a Goddess. Rock or not, she has claimed and ensnared many macho egos'.  Like bad relationships she left a trail of wounded men in her path. Men and their intellectual muscles, fought over her destiny and the significance of her history and providence. Exercising all kinds of liberties the French conjured up her beginnings to suit their fancies.  A 'greater' sculpture the Medici Venus would be rightfully returned to it's home in Italy after being luted by Napoleon's men.  Venus de Milo would take it's place. She was destined to fill some big shoes, too bad she only has one foot.

She stands a commanding 6'8" tall, her home now resides in the not so shabby Louvre in Paris France.  This is where  I would love to see and compare the venus' of our day- a group of seriously tall female basket ball players standing next to her.  Years ago while trying on clothes at JC Penney I heard a bunch of women joking around outside my dressing room.  When I open the door there was a whole group of really tall women like over 6 feet tall.  It turns out they were all part of the College basketball team at NIU.  Talk about feeling short I am only 5'1''.  Diminutive,  she is not Venus is almost larger then life maybe that's why she is so powerful her shear size is commanding there's no denying that if she were alive she could beat the crap out of just about anyone.

I can't imagine why something that once was so elegant, fair and beautiful could be discarded and buried deep in the ground.  I am sure there are those who have their theories could tell you why, landslide, earth quake , but in reality she is shrouded in mystery.  Like so many other antiquities  it's the questions left unanswered that make them so alluring.  I once got a fortune from a fortune cookie that said " A beautiful face is a silent commendation. " A crinkled up iddy  bitty piece of paper has made this lasting impression on me.  When you stop to really think about it- that would be the look of satisfaction, something like the way a bride looks on her wedding day with  her lover and all her loved ones around, hopefully perfectly content. There's a knowing all is good with your immediate bubble and surroundings.  It's a beautiful thing to be enriched enough to desire the act of commending,  then on the other hand how grand to be on the receiving end to be the one who is commended. On a subconscience level this is what's going on with us the crowd the viewers when we are in the presence of Venus.  We are gazing into a beautiful face which is the silent commendation.  What a priceless package indeed.

At one time Venus was tinted in life like colors and wore jewelry that was the fashion  to make her seem even more real.  Now she has been mass produced into little souvenirs in countless shapes and sizes.



  Her image is iconic.  I've always liked her personally because she seems comfortable in her own stone  skin.  She's a Goddess, you want to like her and look up to her.  She was lovingly formed by hand in marble.  She gazes through you and beyond,  there is sense of humility and pride that you get while looking at her.   Even in her extruded 20th century tschotske  resin state here, there is grace and poise it's easy to ponder her greatness.

 She is a sage and has the timeless it factor.  It also helps that there are countless documents that lead up to her paradoxical demise.    Out of the ground she was re-born again. All of this is the stuff of romance, lust, greed and ultimately the clash of egos verses vulnerability. Isn't that after all what love is about? She makes me think about being a women. Twisted and broken she remains powerful and mighty, it's ashame  she has no arms.  I am told and have essentially heard through the tainted grape vine there were  arms near her when she was found but they mysteriously went missing, one arm held a apple.  How provocative, I along with so many others want to make art about her,
 I want her to hold an apple once again.

A space to work with windows to the soul

As an artist and my own worse critic I decided recently that I had lost my way.   With no real direction I felt as if I was going around in circles. My husband and all his infinite wisdom suggested I get a studio.  I think he got tired of hearing my swan song about how great things were back in the day.  Like the old bedraggled cat who had lost it's lustrous coat ~singing Memories...
 I had surrendered to my years and resided in believing "I was beautiful then. "

I have always maintained a creative life but I was starting to question wether I was challenging myself enough.  Let's just say I had gotten  really crafty, the buttons and bobbles were taking over.  With all this self deprecation, I was  sounding a bit odious and down trodden,  it was clear to my husband Dave that I wasn't happy.   About this time summer with all her blazing glory was closing in yet again.  Kids were going back to  school and Mothers would begin to fluff and improve their nests,  and hopefully their general outlook on things.  With the season changing it felt like the right time to hunker down and do something.  The next week we found our selves down in the West bottoms of KC checking out studio spaces at the http://www.hobbsbuilding.com/  a over one hundred year old  brick building.  After a quick look  we decided rather impulsively to lease out space for a year.

The building itself is phenomenal.  Standing righteously 7 stories tall, built  out of brick and mortar.  Inside there are two original freight elevators that chug along delivering an array of clicks and pulley sounds of a hopefully well greased machine.  What struck me as probably the most impressive were the massive wood beams that provide the ultimate infrastructure and support  to this building.

            

                                                                                      

I don't know that much about architecture but I do know they just don't make buildings like this anymore, they are a thing of the past. I try to imagine the old souls, maybe wood workers who worked  in this turn of the century building.  I see them in black and white like an old photo there are young and older men dirty, covered in saw dust, they wear their caps cocked over to the side.   They are  hard working  and have hard lives, filled with all the aches and pains of physical labor.  Some of them are still smiling like they have just been joking around and know life is too serious to take seriously.  I wonder what they would think about the great wall of graffiti that graces the alley way out side my studio windows now.  This collaborative artwork has become  a landmark for trendy photo opts.  Larger then life lettering that intertwines on itself are left over insignias of street artists that are compelled to leave their mark.  A long row of these cryptic signatures are left here outside my windows colorful, abstract  and whimsical, I have no idea what they mean.  At the end of the alley in a defiant finish a very seductive giant ladies head is painted by a women who calls herself fem9. Her lips are so demential looking  you could swear  she just licked them.

I am still unsure of the what's and the where's of  this ambiguous way of art,  but now I have the space to search, dig and delve.   As I lay awake at night sometimes I pray  in the darkness of my room.  I  have asked for God to shine a light on my path and give me some kind of direction. It starts to rain outside and I still feel like a child.  I don't want to get lost in a quagmire of indecision and self doubt.   I pray that with this light I may give birth to art, like little fledglings in a nest.  All I can do is hope and wish that one of these birds of art  will grow up  to be fierce and soar like an eagle or be a dove the messenger of peace and love.  I make a deal with God,  I tell him you have given me these talents, this is my gift to give back but I can't do this alone. I'll meet you half way.  I still can't sleep so I get up and read an email about an organization named after John Capistrano who is seeking to solve life problems .  It's motto is " Initiative, Organization, Activity."  I like the way this sounds I pray for these things too.

                                  Prayer Glasses


Here are a pair of eye glasses that I have made a collage out of.  The vision/ lens area acts  as as metaphor for thoughts just like the expression ~ the eyes are the window to the soul.  

With all these thoughts I think 'yes' my  cup is full ~I have a space to work with windows to the soul.

"UP TO NO GOOD"

Challenge

Recently, my friend Julie and I proposed that if we gave each other art challenges  it would get us to think outside of our boring predictable boxes.  We had both been experiencing a sluggish lull in the creativity flow and were in much need of a  boost.  I had come up with the first challenge and it was really lame and not note worthy but it did get us going.  Julie came up with "UP TO NO GOOD"  where we were instructed to go out to our favorite junk haunt and root around for art elements.  This is the kind of place that has different stuff every day, card board boxes with stuff, nothing is priced just put it in a pile and start to wheel and deal.  Great fun in my book.

The old coins buttons and tokens  are what I came up with.  Within a week we will be finished with our challenge.  Please stop back and see what Julie and I have done, cause we are definitely 

UP TO NO GOOD!

Lockets

I was recently commissioned to do a necklace that was more  like a family memory piece.  I was given several lockets and asked to assemble them with small images of the family inclosed in each of the lockets.  It was a 50 year Birthday present from the Mother to her beloved daughter.

I used a strand of antique jet black beads that I had bought years ago. I  have always been fond of jet beads,  the deep dark facets are modest  but still carry and understated elegance,  I have heard that jet beads are also called mourning beads.  I guess I held on to them all these years because I was waiting for that perfect project.  I kept visualizing this piece with a vintage look, something that held the history of other women who walked the paths that  lead us up to today.

Small photos were placed carefully inside the lockets with accents of Forget Me Nots.  A small gold pendant of Mary about the size of my pinky finger nail dangles from the silver heart shape locket.  It was given to the Mother after she gave birth to her child 50 years ago from St. Mary's Hospital.

I was happy to have assisted in making these memories into a wearable necklace that is hopefully something special to cherish and hand down to future memory makers to come.

Home Is Where The Heart Is

There's something about the phrase Hunter Gatherer that harkens me back to a simpler time.  As women we go out and hunt and gather, we are natural forager. Perhaps, sadly now the Hunter Gatherer in us has been reduced to shopping.  As artists we collect what makes us whole and feeds our soul -all kinds of stuff. Corks, bottle caps, beads, shells, papers, photos, yarns, plants, sticks, feathers and stones you name it. They are the colors and textures that titillate our senses and fluffs our  nest.  It can be a beautiful world out there once you begin to look, dig and search. There tucked under a blade of grass or sitting on a stump, along a stone wall,  packed away deep and dusty a  forgotten treasure can be brand new once re-purposed again.

My sister and I went on an adventure a few days  ago.  Some where on the outskirts of Boulder Colorado we found ourselves  in the mountains along a winding road.  Sage colored wind swept grasses  hugged the earth while the trees towered above us reaching towards the sun. Along the road we came upon a vacant house that was for sale.  In the shade of the Evergreens the house sat dappled in sun light holding the memories of another lifetime,  of a family that picked up there things and left, moved on....  The picnic tables lay bare, crumbs long gone by the wind, bird or insect.  Stone paths remained,  passages made with good intentions we followed them around the house and peeked into the windows imagining what it would be like to have life once again running, humming, cooking and whistling in this house again.

The sounds of nature still remained with a constant drone the cycles of life continued.  The perpetual motion of the planets, birds and insects around us hummed on while the house stood stoic and still aging gracefully.  We had done a full lap around the house now and inspected the grounds.  We hypothesized about what was and what could be, we needed to get moving there was much more to do that day.  I looked over at my sister and her mouth was gaping with an expression of sheer awe.  I walked over to her and there along the stone wall by the house was a collection.  Some one or maybe the family had hunted and gathered up all different kinds of heart shaped rocks, there were hundreds of them.  Over the years, out of sentiment, respect or  love they were found and lovingly placed in a group. They silently laid there speckled in moss waiting to be discovered.

We had discovered them, we were elated we giggled in delight while a rush of love coursed through our senses.  It was a magical moment  indeed yet  touched with a tinge of sadness.  Why was this home left empty?   Why were these hearts left behind?  What ever the intention was it left an impression on me that there was love here and this is what was left behind as a reminder of home is where the heart is.