Tuesday, April 14, 2015

The Continuing Saga of the Artist's Desk

Here we are, looking at my desk again!  Shunning the paperless society, I finally went back to having a paper calendar that I can touch.  This is the first time I've written anything on a calendar in a couple years or more, but it doesn't feel new at all, kinda feels good.

I've had my calendar on my phone for so long now, but because I'm such a visual person, it helps me to plan to actually see several months at a glance looming large and inky.  Settles things into my mind a little more solidly.

What else do we have here?  Well, Shepard Fairey tags... no, I am not a closet graffiti artist, just an admirer.  And no, I do not tag buildings, I REMOVE tags from buildings, to add them to my, uh, collection.  Yep.

Looks like a thank you note to one of my paintings purchasers, a postcard reminding me of an event at church.... a little drawing I did of Bob Marley... I guess everyone needs a little picture of Bob, huh?

There's a wad of folded papers - these are registrations for my classes next year that I rolled up and stuffed into my purse.  It's been a flood.  Every couple days I dig around, find where I stuffed them, and sort it all out.  Thank you, Lord, for new young friends to come!  Blessings, indeed.

Oh, I see my phone is out of its case again.  I NEVER take it out of its OtterBox.  Waaayyy too hard on phones.  Let's put it this way, I usually break my OtterBox cases.  The only reason I take it out of its case is because I spilled something on it. Definitely not paintwater this time, because I'm writing thank you notes.

This desk looks like I'm going more contemplation and planning than anything else.  The pile of papers under the tracing paper is an indicator that it's a planning night.  A good portion of that is charting our youngest son's path through his last two years of high school.  Wow.  That happened fast.

I see a pack of stencils sitting there that I got out, contemplated, and put away.  Go figure.  They probably represent the fact that I WANTED to make art, but had to do the other work, too.

I remember having a class doing some wood projects.  We were all outside sanding out wood, preparing it for paint and collage.  Getting tired and sore-handed, one of my students said, "This doesn't feel like art!"  I assured him that a great percentage of art did not feel like art, but like very hard work.  We went back to our sanding and got 'er done.

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