medium conundrum

I have a lot of print ideas up my sleeve- well, thats kind of a bluff, but I have some print ideas anyway- but what I really want to do right now is learn to crochet. Or go buy tools for needle felting. Which I also don't know how to do. Yet. And I plan to go to a bead festival on Saturday for still another of my obsessions. I'm not going to get into the whole what is art thing, it all is- but what I am trying to figure out, and what has become my eternal dilemma, is distinguishing between what is the beginning part of making work and what is procrastination. I know some of the work I like best comes from that calm playing around in the studio part. That is the part of creating that has been the hardest for me since I've become a parent. I can work my ass off pretty well, but just sitting allowing the thoughts to come? Thats hard.

I should mention I have a deadline, which tips the scale to this is procrastinating. Except it doesn't have to be a print. The work I need to finish, and um... start, is to be auctioned off to benefit inliquid, (which is, in their words, "a nonprofit membership organization dedicated to providing opportunities and exposure for visual artists and designers, serving as a free public hub for arts information and resources, and making the visual arts more accessible to a broader audience. More than just an online presence, InLiquid also nurtures our creative community through a continuing series of venue-based art exhibitions and events.") That blurb is all true, I am a big fan of inliquid.

Am I missing out on creating great work because I am stubbornly adhering to my medium? Or will I end up making thousands of macrame owls if left to one side of my mind? And would that be so bad? What I really want to do is to do it all. I need to loosen the reins a little- in art and in life. And now I'm thinking a macrame owl would make an awesome tag.

Hair cut

I took H and S to get their hair cut the other day.

I hadn't planned to get S's hair cut, but she wanted to, and I was in a charitable mood. Her cut was the easiest 12 bucks the hair guy ever made. And I tipped him pretty well on top of it because he didn't laugh at me as I held my hand under his sissors to catch the quarter inch dusts of S's hair that was drifting to the floor, while yammering about it being S's first haircut.

We usually go to the salon in my kitchen. I'm not sure what got into me. Its the kindergarten thing again, I think. Everything has to be official.

S. Not smiling. Don't tell me what to do. Thats her motto.

When I showed J these pictures, he asked where the pictures of H's haircut were. Oh. Right. Well, it wasn't her first haircut, I didn't document. So, here are some pictures from H's first haircut a year ago:

Look how sappy I am, witnessing the first haircut.

To be big or to be not so big

I need a new theme. But I can't muster one yet- so its this theme or no theme. My girls are getting big. How could that be, oh master of the obvious? Its confounding. Astounding. I must awknowlegde the big. This is my 12 step program to kindergarten. Where they, or at least H, will be officially BIG. School bound, never looking back, cutting the apron strings big. This is where I need to reel myself in a bit- remind myself that this is what they, the kids, are supposed to do, this is what I did.

Then again, I just had a conversation with H about picking her nose and eating the bounty on her finger. "you must stop that, its gross!" I said, my face convulsing in disgust. "no its not", she says "taste it." Maybe not so big after all.

I had a history teacher in highschool, whose name excapes me, that was obsessed with mucous. All of his jokes were nose picking jokes. In fact, if you pointed out that he was obsessed with nosepicking jokes, he'd say, "that's snot true!" and crack himself up.

So I guess big is relative.

Question for today

Will I be able to send H off to kindergarten without getting a puppy?

I am on the way downstairs to pull out the girls chalkboard easel so I can begin writing 1,000 times 'I will not get a puppy' Except I don't think the easel is big enough to handle that.

I probably won't get a puppy yet. Suffice to say I am feeling the beginnings of being traumatized by kindergarten.

I am becoming very aware of little girls. I see them, size up their age- and think, "she's younger than H. Oh look, shes younger than H, too. I remember when H was that old..." and so on.

The summer is slamming shut. Fall and back to school are flinging open. Its here. Almost.

I miss my sister

My sister K and man child 14 yr old nephew A are here for the week. We have been to the beach, and spent the day yesterday ripping out carpets in my mothers house. Having K here is always great and I have K withdrawl when she goes. In addition to being a huge help physically, providing a much needed second pair of hands- she and I operate on the same wave length, and that is always so refreshing to me. Driving back from the beach the other night, for example, we simultaneously burst into singing a Morphine lyric, and not only that but we had both changed the words of the song. How is that possible?

K and I started opperation gross hairy stinky carpet removal yesterday while our mother alterately stood over us and tried to remove tack strips with a pallet knife. She is not as inept as that makes her sound- just the trauma of anyone helping her makes her a bit loopy.

***

That was a few days ago. We finished the carpet removal, along removing the filth that is under everyones carpet, but more so under my mom's carpet. We uncovered some red and brown vintage, probably asbestos laden, tile that could stand to be mopped a fourteenth time, but is clean enough. Rearranged the furniture, slandered the coffee table, wished for a turquoise chair.

K and A are flying home tomorrow morning insanely early. I have already started the sister with drawl, and miss her before she's even on the way to the airport.

In the studio

It can be alarming to unleash the girls with paint in my studio when I'm working on things I don't want splatter painted, but it kind of worked this time. Then again, is there any situation a giant box can't make better?

My dog baby is seven!

Its one thing for ones children to keep getting older- but now my youngest dog is seven. It certainly does not seem like seven years ago that we brought him home. Finally being deemed worthy of him after a day long interrogation from his breeders- he rode home in my lap- asleep with his nose in the pocket of my sweatshirt. After 2 minutes I had no idea what I had done with out this dog in my life- or how it was possible to feel I'd known him forever when he was only 10 weeks old. He's gotten under the skin of the breeders, too- They had 14 Vizslas, and seen countless puppies come and go- but they couldn't watch as we drove away with Tamayo.

H woke up this morning and jumped on Mayo, who was asleep and yelled HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BOY! in his ear. He didn't even grumble for once, just wagged his tail so fast it blurred.