Just Hear Those Sleigh Bells Ringaling

Pictures by Bea

So we went to the Christmas In July art show this past weekend, and had more fun than people should be allowed to have, visiting their sister. This is because there was shopping involved, and it wasn't for the cheapest groceries, or socks and underwear. No, no, it was shopping for beautiful handmade things made by folks we know and love. Here I wave at Bea, because I forgot to even bring my camera with me. I felt naked all day long.Here are some of the dolls made by The Fairies Nest. The Crow Woman in the foreground is one of my all time favorites of hers. I want to have her come live at my house but I'm afraid it would mean her death - my many cats would delight in tearing the feathers off of this exquisite flight of fancy, and then I would have to mass exterminate and Geez! that's tough to explain to the kids! This was a brand new fairy - I'm ashamed to say I've forgotten her name (I think the wassail might have been spiked), something like Callie Ente, 'cause she's the Hot Sauce Fairy! I just love this doll, from her red pepper overdress and her little buttoned boots, to her tiny little bottle of Tabasco! This fairy is a cat guardian, by the name of Kit. Her cat's name is Thomas. Her pinafore is made from a fabric that has little cats all over it. The cat was my favorite part of this - I really want a trio of them in different colors, to put in a basket. Like Callie, Kit also has the new boot foot, which has bitty little beads sewn on as buttons. It's the details that make these dolls so incredible!This one is called The Autumn Harpist. He is a very groovy Cerunnos type of woodland deity, with his antlers on his forehead the incredible little lyre he's holding. I played around with arranging him when no one was looking. Oh alright - so I re-arranged all of them - hey, she's my sister - I can play with her dolls if I want!This mermaid is another of the bigger dolls and is really a one of a kind. She's hanging next to a display tree of okra ornaments. These things are wild - they twist and curl in all sorts of shapes! They are both bizarre and beautiful at the same time, and I've gotten hooked on collecting them.As you may know from previous posts, I have a pottery Jones. I rarely get to give in to it, but the hand painted flowers and designs on these pieces of Earthworks Pottery are so incredibly rendered, like little paintings on each piece, that they're irresistible. This is the one I want! Check out the okras - they are so funky and fun!There were other things for sale too; crocheted shawls and hats (I had my eye on a raspberry beret, and even modelled it, while singing the requisite Prince song. Oh, you know you would do it too!), handmade marbled paper and books, and jewelry. I don't know why Bea didn't take pictures of them - it could have been the wassail - but at least she remembered to bring her camera, so she was doing far better than I was!

So how was your weekend?

Much Ado About Stuff

It's quiet here lately at the Edge; too quiet, I think.

You would think that with two vacations under my belt already this summer I would have more to talk about, and yet, I've been struck dumb, trying to configure a post for week.

It's not that there's nothing happening around here, there's plentyof crapola hitting the rusty fan. But who really wants to hear our epic saga of tearing up carpet in the kids' room that has reached it's cat piddle limit, and how the Legos and Imaginext dudes are mounting an invasion in the living room right now? I annihilated an entire legion the other day, just by dropping a laundry basket on them, but I'm thinking I'm the only one who's going to do the headless chicken dance or whatever to celebrate.

Tomorrow we're headed to Ms. Q's for a pool party and cookout, so there's that. But that does entail swimsuit wearing by all of us. I'm not so sure I want my nekkid parts hanging out in the blogosphere, and I'm pretty sure Ms. Q is going to put up a fight as well, even with her trademark evening length swimsuit. So there might only be cookout shots to see, and now you're feeling like you just have to see those big, fat, dimply, white girls in their swimdresses, but it's a No Can Do. I have so little left to be vain about, you know, in the oh! so glamorous world of the aging woman; I'm keeping my thighs to myself, as much as possible.

The Fairies Nest is having her annual Christmas in July art show this Saturday and Sunday, July 19th and 20th. This is actually a show with several artists under one roof. Their work is all handmade and ranges from dolls and fiber art to pottery, jewelry, textiles, paper and books.
I have to admit: I go to buy my sister's dolls, but I always end up buying at least one Christmas present at these shows, and because this is a Christmas in July show, there will be Christmas carols and holiday refreshments to get you in the mood.



Admit it: you want to go, don't you? So now, all you have to do is pop over the Fairies Nest and ask her how to get there, or if that seems too forward or complicated, just leave me a comment with an email address and I'll tell you how to get there.

So now you know why the ole Blog is suffering: because I'm out having way too much fun!

I finally located Scrawny Joe across the street, in a bush that rustled and yowled. The old dish of cat food to rattle worked like a charm; that and acting like I could care less if he was there. If it hadn't worked, it would have been time to pull out the big guns and open a can of tuna - this is best saved for desperate measures, because it attracts EVERY cat in a two block radius. I got him in the house (FINALLY!), cleaned his gnarly little wound and doped him up so he would sleep and stop pacing and fretting.

The car was in the shop for brake issues yesterday, so I was off the carpooze hook - "Honey" picked the kids up and I was given the lovely gift of an afternoon without scheduling, so I painted.

Its been so long since I was really a daily painter, I think I've forgotten how to get in the groove, but I'm trying to get back there.

Yesterday, it felt good to just focus on a canvas. Forgetting all the world, I lost myself in the patterning of a damask tablecloth and the delicate striations of flower petals. The feel of the paint as it slipped from the brush and slid down the canvas, curving and swerving, was almost a hypnotic experience. The faces of the women remain vague; they haven't revealed themselves just yet, so the patterns of the room around them continue to build up around them, as definition for now.

Bea and I were looking at the painting in progress last night and comparing it to another, earlier painting on the wall. Something about juxtaposing patterns as well as color is very pleasing to me. Not just for the contrasts in color and texture, but because patterns are soothing to paint and exciting to look at in a finished piece.

I was having an internal conversation yesterday, while painting, about the Whys of what I paint. You know, sort of like the crap they ask you to come up with for a slide in an Art History test - 16th c. Italian, Mannerist, contraposto forms, kineticism, depicts moment of ecstasy - that kind of junk, only like a reviewer would say it. "Gauguin (Oops - Van Gogh, thanks Cin!) wasn't out of his gourd when he painted Starry Night, rather he was showing his awareness of the minuteness of his place in the bigger world, blah blah blah..." I truly doubt ANY artist sits down and consciously investigates what they're doing while they're doing it. "Hmmm, I enjoy drawing little spirals because they're the symbol of the route to the underworld, and as a pagan, I must be sure to cram my belief system down everyone's throat, every time I paint."

Where was I? Having a conversation with myself, I think. Yeah. I was thinking about the fact that I do tend towards patterns anymore, and sometimes I don't really care if there is such a thing as perspective when I'm doing that. But how would you explain that to a professor who's critiquing your work, and make it sound good enough to get away with it (because that's how its done, my chickens)? I don't think I would have been able to defend my reasons for what I was painting when I was in college, but the ensuing years have given me a better sense of self than I had at 22, as well as a better idea of why I like to paint certain things. I'd like to think I could bullshit with the best of them now, but I can't help but wonder why anybody needs to explain a picture? Either it works or it doesn't; you get it or you don't. Hemingway may have been a gifted writer, but he was still a misogynistic, alcoholic prick who wrote stuff I could give a rat's butt about. Poe may have written the perfect short story, but Jesus Christ, are they morbidly dull! Andy Warhol may be considered the father of Pop Art, but I still think he was a fucking creativity vampire, who sucked the essence out of others and took the credit. Van Gogh may have been a gifted artist who actually knew what he was doing, but he was still misunderstood and miserable most of his life.

The point is: you can't spend your life and your precious time worrying about whether or not other people "get" you. You have to go where your muse leads, and other people follow, great. If not, maybe you're ahead of your time - look at Leonardo da Vinci - everyone thought he was a loser who could never finish a job, because he was always drawing in his notebooks instead.

Quest For Stuff; Road Trip to Bumfuck, Egypt

Yesterday's festival of playing hookey segue-wayed into the once-a-year foray down to the mecca of NC pottery - also known as Moore County. Some of the folks throwing pots in this part of the world can trace their family's pottery tradition all the way back to the 1700s, while others have settled there more recently to take advantage of the built-in pottery buying clientele. Bea and I used to be serious collectors of Moore county pottery - back before kids, car payments, mortgages, etc. We would go down four or five times a year and drop 300 to 500 a trip on pieces made by the then up and coming Ben Owen III, Vernon Owens, and Billy Ray Hussey, to drop a few names. This being an epic journey; its been forever since we went; Ms. Q, Bea, and I set out with the intention of loading up the car with many and sundry clay beauties. This is the entrance to Jugtown, the place that put all the Moore county potteries on the map back in the 1920s. Moore county potters were in a decline at the time, what with commercial pottery underselling them for daily wares, and Prohibition putting them out of the jug business as well (though I understand there were still jugs being made for the moonshiners). A man named Jacques Busbee, from Raleigh, wanted to get the artware industry going on here that was happening in other parts of the US, so he set up shop, rounded up a few potters, and he was in business. The first two potters he hired for Jugtown were Charlie Teague and Ben Owen. They were both young men in the 1920s and willing to expand their pot-throwing repertoire into the artware realm. Charlie later quit and moved on to do his own thing, but Ben Owen stayed with Busbee and it was his skill that brought Jugtown international acclaim.
I love the windmill with the little pot on it. One of the things I always loved about Jugtown, even as a kid, was the cool handcrafts that they sold alongside of the pottery. I bought a beautiful loomed runner this time - picture to come later - the back seat doesn't photograph well, don'tcha know?
This is one of the wood-fired kilns at Jugtown. They use both wood and gas-fired kilns. The gas gives really consistently beautiful results, but the wood-fired pieces can be truly spectacular. I have a particular affinity for the wood-fired glazes, like ash, and frogskin - its always such a miracle of skill, weather and luck when an amazing piece comes out. We went to a Billy Ray Hussey kiln opening many years ago, where we actually helped unload the kiln. It went very slowly, because we were all oohing and ahhing over the pieces. I loved how they made funny pinging noises as they cooled down - they almost seemed alive in my hand! When we popped into Ben Owens' place to fondle a few of the elite (that we're too broke to buy), the pots had just been brought in from the kiln and they were all pinging - I love that sound! We stopped off at Crystal King's to see what was going on, but Crystal was out of town on a trip to China - go figure ! But her grandmother and uncle were there to shoot the breeze and keep up the stock. The King family is another of the long-time potting families in these parts, and while Crystal is still young, her work is really excellent quality - I think she's going to be one of the next really hot potters in that area. The Medusa head below is one of my most favorite figures that she's made. Unfortunately she had so many issues with cracking that she gave up trying to remake this, but its still a great piece, replete with the serpent that shows up in so many folk pieces from the region.
One of our last stops was Westmoore Pottery, which is run by David Farrell. They make primarily reproductions of Moravian pottery, which is usually redware that is slip-decorated with intricate, patterns that are evocative of the Pennsylvania Dutch Hex signs. No small wonder, as they are from the same cultural background. The NC Moravians settled in what is now Winston-Salem, and when they came, they brought with them two master potters, whose wares are the inspiration for what Westmoore makes. They also sell fabulous hand-blown 18th c. reproduction glassware that was killing me - it was so beautiful! (Note* Ms. Q is in the foreground in this shot of Westmoore - hi Pookie!)
Mid morning we had to stop and get a bite to eat before my blood sugar went so low I was forced to kill and eat an unwary pottery customer - and that tends to piss people off. So we hit the sole eatery in the area, and had some killer hushpuppies and a barbeque sandwich. The BBQ was western NC style, so it was a little weird to me, but the hushpuppies were outstanding! I moaned and groaned in ecstasy the entire time I ate them - I think I might have scared off a few customers, but damn! they were awesome! Bea is looking a bit rough at this point - we DID get up at 6:30 to go...
We also went to Ben Owen III's place, but I was too busy fondling the way-too-pricey-for-me-but aren't-they-gorgeous pieces to take any pictures. I actually asked a man buying a fantastic piece of ash-glaze if I could just hold his vase for a minute (and then I crooned to it - "who's a pretty piece of ash?" - don't judge me - you didn't see that vase). We had an enormously big time...I bought way too much pottery (though its been almost 5 years; aren't I entitled to a little extravagance? Its all going for Christmas presents anyway...oh yeah, what a juicy rationalization...I bet I keep half of it!) For more pictures of this trip, check out Trapped Under Something Heavy later on today...Bea will be posting her pictures there.

Looking For Bread Crumbs

Once Upon a Time...I was going to be a famous painter. Either that or a famous writer. Then I had children and found with all the crying and diaper changing, the endless sippy cups and messes, and now the homework and volunteer work, I couldn't hear the inner voice that told me what to paint. I couldn't stay up until 2 AM, singing at the top of my lungs, while I frenetically applied paint, impasto-style.

Truthfully, I willingly gave up even trying to paint for a number of years because I felt that the work in progress that is my children deserved my full attention. They still do, but they're at school now, and my thoughts are turning again to my canvases.

I was working on a Fairy Tale series that dealt with the darker stories, but since I also live in The Temple of Bast, I have a fondness for depicting the resident deities. Its been so long since I took brush in hand that all of my beloved paints are dry and cakey, some not wanting to relinquish their caps any longer. It is my goal for the upcoming new year (by MY calendar)to replenish my paintbox and pick up my craft again.

If I were a younger me, and if our heating and cooling system hadn't died this year, I would have rationalized myself right over to the Arts and Crafts store and decked out my paintbox anew. But I am an older and incrementally wiser individual these days (much to my dismay, I assure you), so my inner voice will have to wait a bit longer; or content itself with Prisma-Colors and paper.


I have learned other crafts and skills to fill the void; my girlfriends and I learned to make jewelry with wire wrapping techniques, and tried hawking it at craft shows. I also spent the last six years researching and writing an immense volume of family history, that took my family name back to its origin, reconnected us to our extended family, and paved the way for a fabulous trip to the British Isles. So its not like I've been sitting idle, staring out the window of my prison-life, waiting for a prince to climb my unruly locks and set me free. Like the real Rapunzel, having been cast into the desert, I raised my children and made the best of it. If the prince shows up, he still doesn't change or redefine what I've become in his absence. Hmmm, maybe I've hit on the theme for my next painting - "Rapunzel In The Years Without The Prince - A Feminist's Fairy Tale".

Meet The Kids at A*L*P*H*A*B*E*T School

Of course it never occurred to me yesterday, while I was writing about Alphabet School, that a few visuals might be a nice touch. (Duhh!) I convinced the fledgling faculty at the school to send a few of the students to the office to get their pictures taken, and here they are:

From left to right, this is the letter h, arguably the smartest letter in the school, according to his math teacher. Next is little a, who, I understand has received demerits recently for laughing unduly in class while his teacher was talking. His Language Arts teacher tells me that he had to send little t to the principal, who, as a matter of fact, is the next letter in our lineup. Judging by the expression on his face, I'd say he's not too happy with someone- I wonder what little a has done now? Coincidentally, this spells, "hat". Is there a hidden meaning?

The rest of the crew; a couple of upper case Ts, an o, i and an e round out the current student body at the A*L*P*H*A*B*E*T School, though I am assured by the faculty that their attendance numbers are on the rise, though they plan to limit each class to no more than 26 students.