Etsy Shop listings

My Etsy Shop listings

Symbolic

Carefully watching my reflection, I slide the glittery grey liner along my lashes, then top that with a thin black line.   I retouch my eye shadow and then to move to apply mascara.  Now it is time to stroke my cheekbones with blush and mouth with lipstick liner and lip stick... Pressing my lips together, I pull back to study for missteps....

I wake up, the bed is incredibly comfortable this morning and getting up felt like I was peeling off a band-aid.  Stretching my happy muscles, I get up to a 'talkative' four legged creature who is also having a hard time getting up.

I am brushing my teeth when I remember the dream.  The dream about make up, hair, clothing  and an agonizing decision over heels... The quick glances from my reflection to my watching eyes; this dream felt meticulous...ritualistic.

After rinsing out the paste, I lean on the counter and study myself for a moment.  What was it I was preparing myself for?  A night out? Dinner with my sweetheart?

No... even when we go 'out' I don't invest the kind of time indulged in this dream.

I straighten up and get dressed trying not to trip on my dancing young canine.  I let her out, pack lunches and hold the dream lightly in my palms.  When Luna is back and munching on her breakfast I sit down for a minute with my coffee and think about it.

Reader, my dreams are usually playtime for my imagination.  Although I dislike sleeping in and missing mornings, I Love sleep.  Just as I love all play (i.e. painting, skiing, flying, walking with Luna at the end of the day as the sun lights up the mountains).

In dreams colors morph into action, landscapes are in the fourth dimension; I see people I have said goodbye to and met people I will never know in the waking world.  Many of my paintings come from this part of my life.

Yet every now and again I have a guide dream. Rather then the usual kaleidoscope of carefree explorations and reckless inventions; my subconscious has something to say.  Something my conscious doesn't know or may be over looking.  I usually I only recognize that the dream was different when I wake up.  Which is unfortunate.  On the rare occasion I realize what they are while still in them, I know to look for clues and remember answers.

I close my hands around my empty still warm mug and close my eyes.  Again, I see the lip liner I am focused on but I also see, in my blurry peripheral vision a dress, a dark blue creation.  My hair is slightly curled, the usual streaks of brunette and red under my natural blond.... and a couple of dark blue streaks?

I try to relax, I try to see forward, was I going somewhere, to an event?

....No event.  I wasn't getting ready for something...the makeup, the dress, the shoes.. they were symbolic. Huh.

Luna explodes her head between my hands, cracking her brains on the ceramic mug; she crawls half way into my lap to tell me her breakfast was delicious and she that she really really really needs to run around like an lunatic in the back yard again.  Laughing at her eager paws and scrabbling toes, I oblige her request and toss her ahhhhhmazing stick for her to show off and race around with.

I will write about it now and think about it later. It is time for today.

Doodles

Winter Doodles

 

 

Molten Insomnia at 3am (Original Art)

Molten Insomnia at 3am
15" X 14" X 1.5"
Acrylic 
(Details: (4) 5" X 7" X .75" canvases on (1) 12" X 12" X .75" canvas) 
**Sold**

Take Flight - Falcon (Original Art)

Take Flight - Falcon (Original Art)
8" X 10" X 1.5"
Acrylic on stretched canvas

Take Flight - Hawk (Original Art)

This original gorgeous hawk, painted in vibrant purples with undertones of pink, is posed mid-landing (or launching) on a red and orange 8" X 10" X 1.5" canvas. The work has been sealed to help protect against fading. Edges are painted using a mix of the same reds and dark purples on the bird.


https://www.etsy.com/listing/219187509/take-flight-original-art?ref=shop_home_active_1

Dear Friend - Part 3

Dear Friend,

It is funny, the habits one develops without noticing. It was my habit to talk to you old lady. To talk to you about everything.  And now, without you to talk things through, when I try to write them its just a messy knot of sticky spaghetti noodles.

The words run like a rampant virus in my brain, spreading and infecting everything, yet the moment I go to write them down, it all retreats under a convenient mental blanket.

I stare at the lump on the bed in my head and I try to remember exactly what it was I really needed to have said.... but I am unable to discern the shapeless heap.

For so long I chatted you. I never thought twice about it when you started to talk back to me. My words may not have been all that different from your grunts, woofs, sighs, growls and whines.  One of my favorite memories was when you began to kick the floor when you were impatient with me or someone or something.   You would kick the floor, just like a child would stomp their foot.  Even as an old lady, (when standing for any kind of time was not reasonable), while you were sitting on the floor you would kick your foot against the floor and woof! I am laughing right now just thinking of you!

Last November Sal, that last gorgeous warm sunny day with you... when I needed to be strong for you?  That was the memory I kept replaying to make myself smile and be calm in front of you.

I have put that last day with you on my inner shelf.  The one I keep things on when I don't know what to do with them.  My inner shelf has been relatively uncluttered for a while and that day, sitting up there, nearly all by it's self, that day looks a little daunting.

I, fortunately, have my darling.  A tolerant (although I tend to exasperate him) man, he has watched me mourn, held me close and poked me into finally painting again.  We started going for walks together in the evenings, a habit I sorely missed when you were gone.  I have bonded with our Charlie Cat; Prince Charles to you who are not on intimate terms.

I started walking dogs at the Humane Society in December after work.  I was going every day and I would pick out two and take them for a walk.  Maybe it is because I think of you too much but none measured up.  They were not quite... sassy enough.  Even when we first were together and we were both all jumbled up inside, you were sassy.  Intelligent, sure, gentle, always and comfortably sassy.

Now it is January and earlier this week I met a dog.  Rescued from a pound in New Mexico, she is a stray on an Indian reservation, she is about a year and a half old.  She is sweet and nervous and excited and spooked and curious.... and I hesitated.  I walked her and she did her best even with her fear of the leash and the cars and me and the place.

Afterwards, I talked to her foster human for a few minutes.

Around the 20 minute mark -Which is a terribly long and boring time to stand and wait for humans to do something interesting, this little dog despairing groaned aloud and sunk herself tragically to the ground.  I looked down and found her bright amber eyes looking curiously into mine.

And my heart smiled.  And today I wrote this out.

My sweetheart has adeptly picked the name 'Luna' for this little Muppet.