Impromptu art

I was sitting in the dining room looking across the room at the painting on the living room wall. Man in Golden Helmet.
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In front of me was my son’s chalkboard easel. And I thought oh what the hey, I’ll try and draw it.

Well this is what I ended up with…IMG_7103

It was kinda far across the room.

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Not too bad I guess for a no talent ding dong. Guess sometimes ya gotta just go with whim.

We’ll never be “Great” but that’s okay!

antique roadshow

I was watching Antiques Roadshow the other night. It’s not a normal show I watch. I was waiting for my son to get done with his bath so I didn’t want to get too caught up in something with a plot so Antiques Roadshow fit the bill.

I watched as experts conversed with people about the origins of the “amazing pieces” they had brought in for the show. Some where completely shocked that they had been sitting on extremely valuable pieces for years and had somehow tucked them away in their garages without ever knowing that they should have insured that piece for several grand.

So I started thinking about the artist and carpenters and jewelers that had made these “treasures of history” and I realized they couldn’t have know what they were doing. I don’t mean that they were ignorant or slap-dashing things together. I mean they couldn’t have know what their chair or necklace or painting was going to be worth in the future. Most of them were probably dirt poor and struggling to find enough food to eat. Many were probably crashing on some friends couch hoping that this new city would be the start of their career never knowing that in a few hundred years their “early work” or their “Santa Fe period” would become so famous. They probably looked at their painting or their latest carved chair and thought, “Damn I screwed that one up,”

I know you think that I am being a bit negative about this but it’s only because it’s true. There is no artist, writer, crafter, or musician that looks at their piece and says, “This will make me famous in a hundred years.”  Well, maybe they do. But how do they know. Most of them are their own worst critic. Think of Van Gogh or Picasso or even Rembrandt they were famous for painting over their own work because they were never satisfied with it, and now the world is nuts for even their doodles.

So did they think they would be “Great” someday? I think they hoped so.  Then what about us? What about the writers, and the painters and the carpenters that are sitting in their basements and garages trying their hardest to get it right, to get noticed. Will we ever be great?

Will someone ever think  my writing is wonderful enough to publish? I’m still hoping!

 

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Will this doodle I made on my

IPhone ever be sought after?

I doubt it.IMG_5719

 

Will this bracelet I made e

ver be called “classic”?

Not likely.

 

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Will this ship my mom painted ever

become famous from her “early period”?

Now that’s possible, just sayin’ mom!

 

 

The point is we never really know what is going to happen with our work. We many never be “Great” or we could be the starving artist that is one day featured on Antiques Roadshow and our work will be work tens of thousands of dollars. The point is that it’s okay.

Doing the work that makes us happy is what is important! If you love to make jewelry, make it! If you love to write, grab a pen! If you love to paint, do it! And never never ever throw away anything that you have created. You never know , it could be the next Mona Lisa.

 

 

 

 

Elementary Candle making

Long time ago, when dinosaurs roamed the Earth, I was in 1st grade art class and we made candles. We melted our old crayons in a metal coffee can, yes they used to be metal. And we very carefully made candles with paper cups, paper clips and string.  I love to find ways to reuse or recycle old things instead of just throwing them away. So I thought what the hey, let’s do it again.

So I had this old peach mango candle that was so burnt down that only the metal of the wick was showing.

I popped out the metal piece with a spoon.

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Then I found an old smaller candle holder, a giant paper clip and some string. Made a cool thingie to hold the new “wick.”

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Microwaved the old candle at 30 second intervals because I really wasn’t sure how long it would take to melt the wax. Then poured it into the new candle holder. I missed a couple of times and managed to knock the wick into the glass but I just fished it out again.

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I let the hot wax sit for a few hours and it had solidified into a lovely new candle. I managed to get a new glass jar out of it and a new candle. Not bad for something I learned in art class a million years ago. Guess it pays to keep the Arts in schools.

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I forgot we did that!

Long ago in a town not far from nowhere, there once were three friends. Frank, Adriana, and Aaron. We were much like the Three Musketeers, the Three Amigos, or the Three Blind Mice. We partied together, philosophized together and drank more coffee than was probably healthy.

I don’t remember whose idea it was or even why we started but one night there was a  painters tarp tacked up on the wall of the questionable trailer house we spent most of our time in. House paint appeared and we started to paint.

I apologize for the quality of the pictures. I have been lugging this thing around for 20 years.

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Frank took the left side.

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I took the middle.

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Aaron took the right side.

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Here are some close ups. Still not great on the the photos. Sorry.

Aaron’s Moon

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My sun and whale.

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Aaron’s ship.

 

 

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My cat and dragon.

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Frank’s field.

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Frank’s Thistle and Rose.

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Frank’s Phoenix

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We had to move out of the trailer before we could finish it and never got back to it. Frank and I married and Aaron is our son’s Godfather. We all still dabble in art except for Aaron who is professional at it. He is a graphic designer and a photographer.  Here is his site if you want to see more. Aaron Villescas

Garage sales. It’s not what we bought it’s who we met.

Conrad had an all around town garage sale day. There were 40+ sales and we made it tom most of them. It was fun to find all the neat little treasures that other people wanted to get rid of. However our little treasures were not what stuck with me as the day continued on. It was the little old lady that we met at one of the sales.

She was short and spoke loudly mostly because she couldn’t hear her own volume and she had coke bottle thick glasses. It was her sale and most everything there was artistically based. There were wood placards and books on painting and an entire wall and table full of little framed paintings.

At one point she proclaimed loudly, sadly and a little bitterly that not one person who had come to her sale had been a painter. So of course I had to say something. I pointed at my daughter and said, “She paints.”

My daughter cringed. She wants to be an artist but she is scared to talk to anyone about it. The little old lady lit up and bustled right over. She told us all about how her husband had wanted to be artistic and so she had worked at JCPenny’s while he stayed home and fiddled around with art.

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“He used to say “A chunk of wood and vision…a jackknife and a chisel.’ that was all we had and he created this,” she pointed to the bear sculpture.  She said they had been portrait photographers for 48 years and she had taken up painting on wooden plaques. She talked about how his father had come here when he was 12 years old  in 1905 with his own dad with everything they owned packed in a train car.

“He’s been gone 22 years now,” she said and pointed at the table. “That’s his life story. For sale for $3.”

I had found her story fascinating but this last statement brought tears to my eyes. A life of such beauty, hardship, and triumph in love and in art and yet it was for sale for $3. The cost of a man’s life in a little paper book.  I wanted to hug her but she would probably think I was insane.

At that moment someone got her attention because they wanted to buy some of her paintings and she turned away from us. I left that garage sale wondering how much my life would be worth if they sold it in a little book. Probably not near $3.

 


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