Drawn

Please click on the images for a closer look.

graphite on primed Rives paper
5.5" x 7.5"

These are things found on my porch, drawn there by light and found their death. They are so delicate and small, shells of their former selves. Morbid. I am fascinated by the intricate way the body is put together, such tiny joints, and in drawing them I allow moments of awkwardness to reach in. The moth's small furry leg curls up towards its eye as if it should like to hide from my gaze, while its abdomen and wings disappear into the page. A wasp's identity becomes barely discernible as the lines it is made up of surface and disappear, save its legs which sprawl and clutch. These little drawings are partially in response to seeing my mother’s shell, her life drawn out of her by whomever cleans up after the Fates. Her body present but the picture incomplete.

side note: I determined I would post these two weeks ago, but little did I know they would be so hard to get a digital image of. I spent far too long scanning and tweaking, even built a light box to try photograph them only to find my camera was not up to the task, days passed. . . finally an epiphany and I figured out how to scan it differently. Still not perfect, but so glad I didn't settle.

New Press

Jan of Poppytalk wrote a feature about my work on DIESEL.com. The article shows an installation, my jewelry and a work in progress. See it and read it here. Many thanks Jan!

war touches my family

Chief Micanopy by George Catlin

I debated whether to share this bad news, but in the end decided it fits under musings. I met my best friend in kindergarten, her younger brother is the same age as mine and so I've known Catlin (named after the artist who painted the above picture) since he was barely a toddler. Our mothers were fast friends and I vividly remember many, many weekends spent as children together at the local springs and our houses. He grew up, joined the army, and went to Iraq. I learned yesterday evening that he was seriously injured by an IED. From what we know now: his left arm is shattered, he has a skull fracture, and worst he has lost parts of both his legs, one from the knee down and the other from below the knee, his torso is relatively unhurt and the doctors seem to believe his brain is alright. The other guys he was with were not so fortunate. Three of the guys with him died and the other survivor is not doing as well as he is. Thankfully his best friend was not in the vehicle. Thankfully he is alive. I am so worried for his physical and emotional well-being, and so sad for his army brothers and their families.

When someone you know chooses to be a soldier and is deployed, you are very aware of the possibilities, but you can only wait for him or her to come home. No matter your political beliefs, you can only wait. This evening we spent with his mom, dad, sister, extended family and friends on the back porch and ate Southern comfort food, talked, and waited for more news while anxiety and anticipation hung in the humid air. Soon he will be flown from Germany to Texas and we will wait for him to wake up, to heal his body, to grieve his friends and limbs, to heal his heart and soul, and to live. He has a long road before him, I hope he will know he is not alone.

War just breaks my heart, all the loss the comes from it is far too great a cost.

*I am going to continue to update through the comments for awhile*

She

In which Eliza considers George .

altered book
stamps, mail ephemera, thread, acrylic, graphite, ink
5" x 7 1/2"

Spun Experiments

plaster, thread, graphite powder and sometimes wax on masonite
8" x12"

One of my old jobs required hours of sewing. At the end of the day piles of little threads littered my workspace, linear tangles. At the time I was newly grieving my mother and felt words couldn't express exactly what I was feeling but all the same I repeated the story of loss over and over to anyone who would listen. *edit* I was telling myself the story trying so very hard to untangle it and there on my desk was the perfect expression. The thread tells a story; the story, both important and unimportant, unique and universal, spins and winds tangled.

Seedpod boat

Thought I'd share a little stopmotion this morning. Made with bits of my nature collection: a costa rican seedpod (very vague I know) and milkweed fluff. Very simply done, and makes me happy.