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This one is at an abandoned RV park. It was my favorite one to take because I had to squeeze in between the overgrown ponderosas. I felt the laughter of vacationing families and the smell of burgers on the grill until I got spooked and sped off in the car with Louie.
This is one of my favorite signs.
I'm always a little skeptical of a restaurant that serves Chinese and American and sushi. Great sign though.
Note how McDonald's is looking with envy toward Griff's.ETA: If you receive these posts as emails, click on the title it will take you to my blog, where the photos look much better on a grey background. I'm having the time of my life in Philadelphia, drawing all day and eating hoagies.
If you've seen the grisly but very well done film "No Country for Old Men", you will recognize the Desert Sands as the hotel where Llewellyn was shot in the parking lot. Quite a few films are made in New Mexico because it is so fabulous (and cheap).
I had high intentions of doing enough drawings to post ahead while I was gone, but I quickly realized that was not going to happen. I am drawing this week though, so it still counts, and will post them when I return because I don't like traveling with my computer.For your viewing pleasure, Louie and I hopped into the car and I took photos of the fabulous old signs left along Central Avenue in Albuquerque, old Route 66. To me these signs are works of art, and I'd always meant to photograph them. Some of these places are still thriving, while others are abandoned. It's only a matter of time until the old signs disappear altogether.I have a fascination with Route 66 and have had the great luck to drive part of what's left of the old road from Oklahoma to Arizona. The interstate killed the famous route and if you take the time to explore off the highway you can find ghost towns. It's strange to see ghost towns of happy things like diners and motels with kidney shaped pools.
Two oldies in honor of Dad. The long hair and pipe were true to my seventies father, but I'm not sure what's going on with that arm there. Maybe he needs an occupational therapist? Happy Father's Day!
I would love to plant something in these pots but I can't because I won't be around to water them. I'm heading to Philadelphia to take a drawing class with Sherrie McGraw. She wrote one of my favorite books, The Language of Drawing. I love her work and I'm excited to be drawing for a whole week and away from the remnants of moving chaos. The class is being held at Studio Incamminati.
Ironically, Sherrie is from Taos, but the two local art schools where she would have taught have closed. But there's another reason why I'm excited to take this class in Philadelphia. When I was 24 I was accepted into the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. In my interview I declared "I know in my heart that I'm a painter, and I know that at fifty I will be a painter. I know that if I don't pursue this now I will regret it then. So I might as well do it now." And I got in. But I couldn't afford it. So I didn't go. I'm giving myself this gift of a week of art school in Philadelphia, in honor of my 24 year old self, who was right all along.
This is simply a plant that's growing in front of my apartment, but while I was painting I thought about a question I received in a job interview last week. After reviewing my vast work and life history I was asked "Are you afraid of commitment?". My heart sank. I knew a corporate health care job interview would be a bit cut and dry but why must people who live slightly outside the box still be seen as having commitment issues?In my younger years I was highly committed to living fully, to do what many people wait until retirement to do. That way I could spend my last years sitting in an adirondack chair reflecting on memories of what I'd experienced, rather than "should have dones". And then there's the commitment of doing this darn blog every day.I find commitment soothing. The problem is not with the action itself, I thought while painting this plant, but with knowing exactly what to commit to. Should I commit to the thing that makes the most money? Should I commit to following my heart? Should I commit to the tremendous effort of juggling both?I've been painting with the same medium for the past few weeks because it's what I had set aside while packing. It's starting to become what I know, and there's so much to be said for studying something deeply. But what about all the other mediums out there to be explored? Does that curiosity reflect a lack of commitment? Or am I commited to fulfilling my curiosity?
Moving is the opposite of staying. All the stuff that seems annoying and questionable when packing is what makes a house a home when unpacking.
After a couple of days at the Apple store, a day or two searching through boxes for the CD to reinstall the scanner, and a few days unraveling in grief, exhaustion, and despair (not just computer related, but the accumulation of everything), we are back on the air!
Due to technical difficulties Anne Woods' Daily Art Works will not be available until it is available. Which will be who knows when. In fact, it should be available right now, and would be if life were as simple as it should be, which it is not. The Comcast guy says he can't figure out what's wrong, as he doesn't know Macs. Apple says my phone tech support has expired, and I need to pay $49 to renwew, or I can make an appointment at the store. Appointments at the store can only be made online, but I can't get online. I drove to the store, they don't have an appointment available until tomorrow. I told the Apple guy it's probably something simple, as my computer was working fine until the Comcast guy arrived. He said it may be something simple, but it may not be, and there are no available appointments until tomorrow. Ah moving, what a joy.
Drawing while moving was accomplished by listening to the fabulous Radiolab. On the right side of their website you can pick a topic and hear the most fascinating stories and studies about why things work the way they do. Listening to this show made stopping to draw easier in the middle of packing chaos.
Moving makes you question everything. It starts by watching your seemingly "not that much stuff" turn into stacked boxes that spread like wildfire throughout the house. It's dirty and exhausting and leaves you feeling strangely vulnerable. What is this stuff anyway? Instead of having two hundred books why don't you just get one TV? Art books, art supplies, papers saved for collage, art from the past that you shouldn't throw out for some reason, fabric because one day you will have the time to sew again, almost a year's worth of daily drawings. And the sad realization that as an artist you are simply a maker of more stuff. Even if you renounce making art altogether you still must live with the stuff in your mind that wonders why you are no longer making stuff.
Creating sand mandalas that blow away in the wind every day sounds more and more appealing. Moving makes you question everything.
Today as I was putting a new flyer in the window, one that reduces the price of the house yet another $25,000, I noticed that the small statue of Saint Joseph on the sill was looking weary. Saint Joseph is the patron saint of real estate. The lady at the religious goods store said she can hardly keep up with the demand for his image. I thought I might help infuse him with energy through a drawing. And you can help give him energy by looking at the drawing. The pressure is too much for one saint! Let's help Saint Joseph turn this mess around!
Last night, as I was chopping fresh mint I'd just picked from the back yard, I felt something crawling on my arm (never a good feeling). Just as I was about to whack it away I looked down to see a tiny green face staring back at me. It was a baby praying mantis, less than half an inch long. He was a fresh glowing green. So still and present, yet highly articulate in his movements as he rubbed his face and cocked his head to the side to look at me. He seemed a cross between an innocent Disney character and a highly intelligent professor.A quick search revealed that the praying mantis symbolizes stillness, calm in the chaos. In Japan it represents power and courage, its image was often inlaid into samurai swords for protection.
Today I brought the first load of stuff over to the new apartment. Ceramics, glass and this stack of good paper, things that I worried might get crushed in the U-haul. I thought about all the promises one makes when they move into a new place. Like, "I will wash and chop veggies and put them in little storage containers as soon as I get home from the grocery store, instead of leaving them to die, forgotten, in their plastic bags". And, "I will write things down in a day planner instead of on index cards that end up scattered throughout the house" And of course, "I will dust more".
I received a delightful email from my friend Ilira who said that, in these "Moving" paintings of late, I'm really capturing the essence of the object. I loved that. Essence. It was the perfect way to put it. I had wondered why I'd been finding a perfectly fine drawing boring, needing to push it by letting its colors seep together and drip where they would. While I was capturing the shape of the object in the perfectly fine drawing, I wasn't content until I'd captured its essence.
Juquila awaits her turn. I've been thinking so much about people who are facing foreclosure these days and are also going through divorce, or have little kids to take care of while packing. Or those who've had a health problem or disability affect their ability to pay their mortgage. Moving is really hard and my heart goes out to those who have to do so under such disheartening conditions. It's just amazing what people survive.
Still packing, ugh. Actually, dinner was about four of these.
I am in the extremely crabby phase of moving. No longer here but not yet there.
