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| Ogden's Cow No further explanation required, right? |
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
Dear Abby
Dear Abby,
1. Do people become more boring as they age, become broken records, endlessly droning on about their glory day(s), their one and only hobby, interest or most recent discovery, stuck like glue to the same subject, returning to that subject over and over regardless of one's efforts to steer them elsewhere, ignoring all signs that nobody gives a rat's ass about what they're saying?
2. What's your take on these folks? Are they so self-absorbed, so egocentric that they have no interest whatsoever in anybody or anything other than themselves?
3. Do you recommend any of these actions? Interrupt with, "How 'bout those Cubs?" Close your eyes, incline your head and make loud snoring noises. If wearing sturdy shoes - better yet, steel toed boots - holler, "Darn it, another cramp!" while giving 'em a swift kick in the shins, then shuffling around moaning and massaging your thigh. Explaining the difference between monologue and dialog, dissertation and conversation.
4. Is there a way to make them understand that after a couple minutes the audience is lost, casting frenzied glances at the nearest exit, fervently wishing they'd stayed home, vowing to avoid further contact at all costs, and pondering the slowest, most painful methods of (justifiable) homicide?
5. Is it possible that I unknowingly attract them somehow, that I'm a bore magnet? Should I try changing shampoo?
Signed, Bored in Arizona
PS: Ever heard John Prine's song, Dear Abby? Funny!
1. Do people become more boring as they age, become broken records, endlessly droning on about their glory day(s), their one and only hobby, interest or most recent discovery, stuck like glue to the same subject, returning to that subject over and over regardless of one's efforts to steer them elsewhere, ignoring all signs that nobody gives a rat's ass about what they're saying?
2. What's your take on these folks? Are they so self-absorbed, so egocentric that they have no interest whatsoever in anybody or anything other than themselves?
3. Do you recommend any of these actions? Interrupt with, "How 'bout those Cubs?" Close your eyes, incline your head and make loud snoring noises. If wearing sturdy shoes - better yet, steel toed boots - holler, "Darn it, another cramp!" while giving 'em a swift kick in the shins, then shuffling around moaning and massaging your thigh. Explaining the difference between monologue and dialog, dissertation and conversation.
4. Is there a way to make them understand that after a couple minutes the audience is lost, casting frenzied glances at the nearest exit, fervently wishing they'd stayed home, vowing to avoid further contact at all costs, and pondering the slowest, most painful methods of (justifiable) homicide?
5. Is it possible that I unknowingly attract them somehow, that I'm a bore magnet? Should I try changing shampoo?
Signed, Bored in Arizona
PS: Ever heard John Prine's song, Dear Abby? Funny!
Friday, February 17, 2012
Amputations
Our kitchen came with an unanchored island that appeared to be an afterthought. Although it had the same granite top as the perimeter cabinets, the sides and back were cheap ass fiber board with fake 'wood' finish that didn't match the built-in cabinets. The moldings were also mismatched, poorly cut and installed by a drunk or a butcher. Or drunken butcher. Or butch drunk. Except for the granite top it was butt ugly, with capital UGH!
We decided to deep six the UGH but keep the granite top and attach it to a new island that we would buy or build. We chose the buy option. Trish wanted a lower work surface so she could sit whilst creating culinary delights but we couldn't find anything the right height. On to Plan B: buy a table and simply shorten the legs.
Trish found an unfinished table at IKEA that had nominal 4" square legs. I proceeded with the quadruple amputation, assuming the legs were solid wood. Sumbitch! Damned things were hollow except for the bottom 1.5"; the rest of the leg was nothing more than a square tube with sides 1/4' thick. I had to do major surgery on the amputated feet and build 'ankle' inserts that could be screwed and glued inside the hollow tubes. It had to be strong enough to support the 200 pound granite top plus pots and pans plus the occasional sitter - say 400 pounds and change - plus allow for lateral movement without collapsing. So much for the 'simply shorten' concept.
The finished table looks great and Trish is happy. Mama happy = everybody happy. I saved the amputated ankles thinking they'd make good pencil holders or some such. Flash forward 5 months, I'm heavy into my new acrylic painting hobby and there's those ankles sitting over there. It's time I slapped some paint on those suckers. And so it came to pass.
We decided to deep six the UGH but keep the granite top and attach it to a new island that we would buy or build. We chose the buy option. Trish wanted a lower work surface so she could sit whilst creating culinary delights but we couldn't find anything the right height. On to Plan B: buy a table and simply shorten the legs.
Trish found an unfinished table at IKEA that had nominal 4" square legs. I proceeded with the quadruple amputation, assuming the legs were solid wood. Sumbitch! Damned things were hollow except for the bottom 1.5"; the rest of the leg was nothing more than a square tube with sides 1/4' thick. I had to do major surgery on the amputated feet and build 'ankle' inserts that could be screwed and glued inside the hollow tubes. It had to be strong enough to support the 200 pound granite top plus pots and pans plus the occasional sitter - say 400 pounds and change - plus allow for lateral movement without collapsing. So much for the 'simply shorten' concept.
The finished table looks great and Trish is happy. Mama happy = everybody happy. I saved the amputated ankles thinking they'd make good pencil holders or some such. Flash forward 5 months, I'm heavy into my new acrylic painting hobby and there's those ankles sitting over there. It's time I slapped some paint on those suckers. And so it came to pass.
Amputations
Monday, February 13, 2012
Sonart
What is sonart? Google it and you'll get 213,000 hits, this post now being one of them. So much for coming up with something new. It's mind boggling when you think about it: 213,000 references to a word that isn't a word at all. It appears that most of the hits refer to a bogus sound studio website that's a scam/virus; don't go there.
If you've seen a fish finder in action, you'll recognize the theme of my latest painting. If not, you'll think the painting resulted from a bizarre nightmare involving alien spacecraft, boats, sundry wierd shapes, sharks, hallucinatory mushrooms and a leaky waterbed. Many fishermen have these sonar devices on their boats to help them ID fish and structure (weeds, debris, Jimmy Hoffa, etc), and determine water depth and temperature. Sonar + art = sonart. Yeah, I know: it's gag me-esque but work with me here; cut the silly old fart a little slack, already.
Sonart
Fish finder viewing screens are mostly small, say about 3" high by 4" wide. My painting is a stretched version, 11" high by 42" wide, thusly sized to fit a specific wall in the MBR. Trish said she wanted to replace a framed black and white print of downtown Portland with something more colorful. Color, it's got. As for other redeeming qualities, well ...... you tell me. I can handle it.
Doing this painting was helpful in overcoming my tendency to over-define and overwork. The subject is loosey goosey, no hard edged shapes or straight lines, inspires one to let it all hang out and be creative rather than just copying an image, be it mental or real, from one source to another. I may do more sonart pix.
If you've seen a fish finder in action, you'll recognize the theme of my latest painting. If not, you'll think the painting resulted from a bizarre nightmare involving alien spacecraft, boats, sundry wierd shapes, sharks, hallucinatory mushrooms and a leaky waterbed. Many fishermen have these sonar devices on their boats to help them ID fish and structure (weeds, debris, Jimmy Hoffa, etc), and determine water depth and temperature. Sonar + art = sonart. Yeah, I know: it's gag me-esque but work with me here; cut the silly old fart a little slack, already.
Sonart
Fish finder viewing screens are mostly small, say about 3" high by 4" wide. My painting is a stretched version, 11" high by 42" wide, thusly sized to fit a specific wall in the MBR. Trish said she wanted to replace a framed black and white print of downtown Portland with something more colorful. Color, it's got. As for other redeeming qualities, well ...... you tell me. I can handle it.
Doing this painting was helpful in overcoming my tendency to over-define and overwork. The subject is loosey goosey, no hard edged shapes or straight lines, inspires one to let it all hang out and be creative rather than just copying an image, be it mental or real, from one source to another. I may do more sonart pix.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Fish
Several posts back, I was relating my sporadic forays into the world of art but forgot to mention a Phase II piece that was done for a benefit event. I'm not sure how this thing would be classified. Sculpture doesn't seem quite right. Mixed media perhaps. It consists of cedar board scraps, bamboo sticks and fence posts covered with acrylic paint and assorted junk.
Fish Sticks
I had fun making this, especially the bionic blowfish and cardshark. It was donated to an organization that gave out scholarships and was sold in a silent auction for $2700. Do you believe that? Nah, didn't think so. Honestly, I don't recall how much it went for, around $75 I think.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Phase III-3 Farm
My blog profile reads 'MN farm boy' amongst other things. It was a time-typical farm in north central MN, several miles away from a time-typical town of about 2,000 souls. I spent my first 18 years there but would not have been the least disappointed had it been 17. Or 16. Or none at all.
Nevertheless, the doggone thing got into my blood, deeply rooted after all the years, all the work, all the growing-up memories. It was inevitable that the farm came to mind when contemplating subjects for my new painting hobby. I didn't have that subject in mind when I started the painting, however, was just winging it. It started with the sky background; that looked okay so decided to add a grain field at the bottom and that looked okay, too. It was at that point that I decided to do the farm buildings.
The panacea of would-be artists is the phrase 'artistic license'. Flaws? Screw-ups? Paint-overs? Uh-uh: artistic license. When asked about a particular detail in a painting, that detail being somehow out of place or not quite right, the painter calmly responds 'artistic license', sighs deeply and gazes off into the distance with a slightly disdainful look. I need to practice that, expect I'll use it a lot.
Wing-its are great. Picky little details are not. The house was a picky little detail. Wouldn't have been so bad if I'd made it larger, another lesson learned. Not foreseeing the problem, I made the house a mere 2" high on the 11" x 14" canvas. Trying to paint in the many details (windows, doors, roof lines, etc) on a 2" square surface was a pain in the arse. I couldn't fall back on the artistic license excuse because I wanted the relatives to recognize it. Jury's still out on that.
The farm has long since been busted up into 5-acre 'mini estates' and christened Lakeview Estates or some such grandiose handle. In your dreams: a smidgen of Marion Lake is visible from the few 'estates' on higher ground but that's it. The house is still there; the barn collapsed years ago.
Nevertheless, the doggone thing got into my blood, deeply rooted after all the years, all the work, all the growing-up memories. It was inevitable that the farm came to mind when contemplating subjects for my new painting hobby. I didn't have that subject in mind when I started the painting, however, was just winging it. It started with the sky background; that looked okay so decided to add a grain field at the bottom and that looked okay, too. It was at that point that I decided to do the farm buildings.
The panacea of would-be artists is the phrase 'artistic license'. Flaws? Screw-ups? Paint-overs? Uh-uh: artistic license. When asked about a particular detail in a painting, that detail being somehow out of place or not quite right, the painter calmly responds 'artistic license', sighs deeply and gazes off into the distance with a slightly disdainful look. I need to practice that, expect I'll use it a lot.
Wing-its are great. Picky little details are not. The house was a picky little detail. Wouldn't have been so bad if I'd made it larger, another lesson learned. Not foreseeing the problem, I made the house a mere 2" high on the 11" x 14" canvas. Trying to paint in the many details (windows, doors, roof lines, etc) on a 2" square surface was a pain in the arse. I couldn't fall back on the artistic license excuse because I wanted the relatives to recognize it. Jury's still out on that.
The Farm, circa 1950
The farm has long since been busted up into 5-acre 'mini estates' and christened Lakeview Estates or some such grandiose handle. In your dreams: a smidgen of Marion Lake is visible from the few 'estates' on higher ground but that's it. The house is still there; the barn collapsed years ago.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Phase III-2 Weather
Trish and I both lived in Corvallis, OR, she '75-'78, me '79-'82. She was there to pursue her housing studies at OSU (Go, Beavers!); I was transferred there from Seattle to work in the corporate headquarters of CH2M Hill. Coincidentally, Trish worked as a night shift keypuncher at the same company.
One of the few off-campus Corvallis structures that had any architectural interest was the Benton County Courthouse. Upon my return from Egypt, I was ensconced in the Portland office and occasionally had cause to visit the Corvallis office. On one such visit, there was a black and white print of the Courthouse on display in the office lobby. The artist was offering limited edition prints to company employees; I bought one on the spot, took it home, framed it and hung it on the wall of my Beaverton home.
The print has hung on numerous walls in the intervening 30 years, including one here in LHC. I still like the print but was ready for something brighter and fresher on that section of wall, something with potential visual interest to folks other than Trish and me. Thus, my second Phase III acrylic was done with that venue in mind - and the self-imposed caveat that it had to be wall-worthy.
This is my first venture into collage and I like it. It's fun, easy, adds shapes and textures and visual interest limited only by one's imagination and creativity. As collages go, mine is pretty tame and the rest of the piece is typical paint-by-number amateur stuff, with a touch of whimsy. But - you have to admit that it brightens up that piece of wall a whole bunch.
Before I hung it on the wall, I had to get Trish's concurrence on the worthiness issue, which required only 2 days of heinous torture. In her case, heinous torture = no dark chocolate. 48 hours without it has her twitching, gasping, flopping around on the floor like a freshly caught trout, agreeable to any absurdity - if dark chocolate is the reward. Alternative torture methodology - like waterboarding - is crude, uncreative. Bunch of doggone hacks.
One of the few off-campus Corvallis structures that had any architectural interest was the Benton County Courthouse. Upon my return from Egypt, I was ensconced in the Portland office and occasionally had cause to visit the Corvallis office. On one such visit, there was a black and white print of the Courthouse on display in the office lobby. The artist was offering limited edition prints to company employees; I bought one on the spot, took it home, framed it and hung it on the wall of my Beaverton home.
Benton County Courthouse
The print has hung on numerous walls in the intervening 30 years, including one here in LHC. I still like the print but was ready for something brighter and fresher on that section of wall, something with potential visual interest to folks other than Trish and me. Thus, my second Phase III acrylic was done with that venue in mind - and the self-imposed caveat that it had to be wall-worthy.
Weather
This is my first venture into collage and I like it. It's fun, easy, adds shapes and textures and visual interest limited only by one's imagination and creativity. As collages go, mine is pretty tame and the rest of the piece is typical paint-by-number amateur stuff, with a touch of whimsy. But - you have to admit that it brightens up that piece of wall a whole bunch.
Before I hung it on the wall, I had to get Trish's concurrence on the worthiness issue, which required only 2 days of heinous torture. In her case, heinous torture = no dark chocolate. 48 hours without it has her twitching, gasping, flopping around on the floor like a freshly caught trout, agreeable to any absurdity - if dark chocolate is the reward. Alternative torture methodology - like waterboarding - is crude, uncreative. Bunch of doggone hacks.
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