Art is today's Photo A Day theme so I unlimbered my trusty red digital camera this morning and took pictures of the "art" in our living room. One piece, the biggest single one, is by a real artist, Durwood's great-uncle, John Phillips, who was an illustrator with Saturday Evening Post covers to his credit and a reputation in the art world. The rest are by me and DD and various underwater digital cameras. I've decided to give you (show you) the four watercolors that live behind our front door. A few years back I was writing a novel about a woman who took up watercolor painting and was instantly terrific at it so I signed up for a 2-day weekend watercolor class at The Clearing so I could write about it and not sound like a dork. (Did you know watercolorists don't use easels? I didn't, until that weekend.) Somehow I'd convinced myself that I'd be as good at watercolor painting as Gail was. I wasn't. I wasn't bad but many of the attendees were professionals who had taken their first lessons from this guy so all around us three pathetic beginners were ten women who could paint better with their eyes closed. It made for an intimidating and demoralizing weekend. I brought my paintings home and my delightful children made sport of my efforts. Actually I kind of started it because if you click on the photo to embiggen it, you'll see that the horse and buggy one kind of looks like an Amish guy and Scooby Doo on a date (Scooby's driving) and by their body positions it looks like the two fishermen have had an argument. I didn't want to throw them away but I also didn't want them prominently displayed in our elegant home (ahem, NOT) so I hung them behind the living room door so that when people come in the door covers them up but you can see them if you look for them. Pretty clever, huh? I thought so. Still do. But here I am showing them to you, holding them up for all to see, and calling them Art. *shrugs* Once again I want another day, one squeezed in between Tuesday and Wednesday because I frittered my Tuesday day off away on chores and errands and making soup for lunches this week and next and didn't sew one damned stitch. And I wanted to. Well, I think I wanted to. I guess I wouldn't have sat here reading blogs and answering emails (I'm looking at you, Lala, not blaming just looking--and how did your reading go? Inquiring minds, etc.) and not down in the basement (uh, make that studio) sewing. I need a squeegee to scrape off all the "should" that clings to me. I SHOULD do this and I SHOULD do that (wash the pile of dishes, copy those recipes for the nail salon girls and deliver them, watch frickin' TV all evening)... GAH! I need more "wanna" and a whole giant helping of "will." I'm such a trial to myself.
June 13--Giovanni Giardini, Holy Water Stoup with Relief of Saint Mary of Egypt. "Not another damned church," Ed said as the tour bus ground to a halt. "Oh, Ed," Linda said, swatting his arm, "churches hang around. That's why we visit them, for the history." She looked at the beautiful building. "And the art."
I was tired. I was cranky. That's all I wrote. I'm still cranky. Bah.