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, 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.

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.

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.

Phase III-1: Pot

A pot shelf is a standard interior design feature of newer homes in these parts.  Said shelves are built into the tops of walls or above between-room passageways, kinda-sorta serving as room dividers.  Our home has the shelves in three rooms: living/dining, kitchen and MBR.  All told, I'm guessing we have around 80 linear feet of it.

Pot shelves are used to display objets d'art, knickknacks, decorative baskets, pottery (hence the name), dust and cobwebs.  The latter 2 items are especially popular because it's a pain in the butt to clean the shelves.  You have to get up on a stepladder and the vacuum hose doesn't reach.  Why bother anyway?  Except for the day you place the stuff up there - and maybe the day after - you never really notice it.  Besides, visitors would need to be 7' tall to see the grime.

99% of the stuff you see on pot shelves is blah.  Boring!  Needless to say, our stuff, Trish's and mine, is unique, beautiful, tasteful - definitely not in that 99% - and so thinks every other pot shelf-homeowner.  The majority of our pot shelf space is bare and will stay that way.  Trish would like to add some colorful pottery, though, and suggested that I use my acrylic paints to that end.  And so I did.

A year ago I took a sunset picture that got published in one of the larger AZ newspapers.  Here it is.

This picture was the inspiration for my first Phase III painting project, recently completed.  

It now resides on the dining room pot shelf.

LHC Sunset.

Okay, so it's not a Picasso - but I'm learning and really enjoying my new hobby.

Firepit

Our Yucaipa campsite had one drawback: no fire ring.  Thus no campfire.  Bummer.  They did have little fire grates on pedestals that could be used for charcoal BBQing and also a couple large centrally-located fire rings for groups.

Many RVers have portable campfire devices that range from salvaged clothes dryer drums to more sophisticated ready-made types.  We decided it was time for us to have our own portable campfire thingy and ordered one online.  Last night we tried it out, works fine but is too small for standard size firewood and not configured well for grilling.  Still, it provides the desired ambiance, Trish can do her marshmallows and I can roast my weenie.

Getting set up for the firepit christening.

Here's to firepits and sunsets. 

Shortly after the above shot, Trish kicked over her champagne glass and broke it.  I got her some more champagne but served it up in a plastic glass.  Ten minutes later I kicked that over, too. 

Old Route 66 crosses AZ about 25 miles north of here.  We're both quite pleased about not having to drive there to get our kicks. 

That's downright purdy, podner!

Soap

Gotta share this.  It's quite sad but also quite funny.

Ranger is a certified therapy/assistance dog, has been extensively trained and regularly tested as is required of pooches that carry his credentials.  Trish has done a remarkable job with Ranger.  He's a smart little furball and a joy to have around.  And, you know what?  Those credentials I mentioned?  Ranger doesn't actually carry them himself; he's got Trish trained to do that.  Like I said, smart dog.

T&R visit elementary schools where students get to read to Ranger.  Sometimes it's a reward for students who earn enough good behavior points.  Other times it's with students who have reading problems or who are disruptive; reading to a warm, furry, non-critical audience helps these kids along.  Ranger wags his tail when they get it right, whines and places his paws over his face when they mispronounce a word, and so on.  Trish supervises and tries to keep the youngsters focused.

T&R also visit the Alzheimer's lock-down unit at the retirement center, bringing a bit of joy to the residents.  Trish has been consistently impressed with this place, thinks the staff is great, says she's sure I'll like it there.  Last Saturday's visit found the residents, nearly all ladies, in the activity room, making homemade soap under the direction of the aides.  The activity room gets a lot of use: games, arts and crafts, TV, snacks, etc. 

Everything went swimmingly.  The aides worked closely with the ladies, who obviously enjoyed the activity.  T&R circulated around, offering encouragement, wags and licks, compliments on the colorful bars and cakes of soap.  The activity was just wrapping up, the soap drying on several trays, when disaster struck.

The dreaded A-illness has a nasty, unpredictable impact on memory, especially short term memory.  Trish says some folks can't recall things that occurred just moments before.  Oh, did I mention that snacks, cookies and such, are regularly served in the activity room?  On trays?  You see where this is going?

"Oh boy!  Cookies!" thinks one of the ladies, as she grabs a cake of soap and takes a bite.  Two other ladies observe this, select their own cookies and chomp down.  The aides are all over it, extracting the soap from the ladies' mouths and hands, confiscating the untasted varieties, showing remarkable patience and control, grinning widely but not rolling around on the floor in helpless mirth.  T&R exit stage left, Trish barely managing to hold it together, Ranger thinking, "The 2-legged members of this clan are a weird bunch indeed!"

Phase III

Phase I occurred in my mid 20s when I lived in Seattle.  Very few Phase I pieces were produced and those few hovered between amazingly amateurish and painfully pathetic.  What else could one reasonably expect?  No lessons, no study, no practice, just buy the stuff and do it.  That's me, hate sitting around in classrooms listening to instructors.  I have the attention span of a grasshopper and a tendency to fall asleep within minutes if not actively engaged or entertained.  So, just jump in head first, screw it up really good, maybe learn a little, screw it up less next time.  Maybe.

That said, the very first Phase I product, now 40 years old, has survived a dozen plus moves and as many 'toss or keep' decisions.  It's hanging in the hallway here in LHC, even as we (don't) speak.  I'm fond of it - more for the theme than the skill it displays.  Figured it out?  Yup, we're talking painting here.  Phase I was oils.  Oils dry slowly.  Not the best medium for a man in a hurry.  Here's the lone survivor of Phase I.  We'll call Phase I the JDI period.  Just Do It.

Flash forward 30 years for Phase II, which was brief, just a couple consecutive winters in Columbia City, OR.  I was living with Patty at the time; many readers knew her as an accomplished artist/illustrator.  She had a large inventory of art supplies that included acrylic paints.  I borrowed a few acrylics, bought a few more, and proceeded to paint a tot-sized chair left behind in one my rentals.  The chair (below) now serves as a color spot in our living room.

The second - and last - Phase II piece was an act of desperation.  I'd been searching high and low for colorful tiles that would fit into the top of a plant stand, couldn't find any.  The tiles that came with the plant stand were your standard natural clay color; I finally gave up my search for new tiles and decided to paint the old ones.  Where I got the idea for a Pacific NW Native American totem pole theme, I don't recall.  Anyway, that's the direction it went and here it is.

I'm thinking Phase II would be appropriately called the PBN (Paint By Number) period since it involved no mixing or blending or other cool artsy techniques.

Phase III started a week ago when I opened a Christmas wish-list gift from Trish: a starter set of acrylic paints.  Phase III is a blank canvas in every sense of the phrase.  I suspect it'll trend towards semi-abstract.  To be continued.

Benched

Five weeks ago I pulled a muscle in my left forearm, not sure how, working in the yard I guess, didn't seem like a big deal at the time.  Golfing a few days later and executing one of my notorious whack-that-little-dimpled-sucker-into-the-next-state drives, I further aggravated the arm: very sore, internal bleeding, lovely purple skin fading over time to ugly yellow-green. 

I skipped my Wednesday golf league for a couple weeks to give the arm some healing time, wrapped it in an Ace bandage and played in the couples Sunday scramble 2 weeks ago.  Dumb ass!  Did the same thing all over again, only worse: sorer, purpler, yellower, greener, uglier - with the extra added attraction of a doorknob-sized knot near the elbow.

Went to see the sawbones, diagnosis: rippeduptendonistic soreashellarmitis.  Those weren't the exact words but it was 2 l-o-n-g words, both containing 20+ letters, with a few extra Zs and Xs thrown in for good measure.  Treatment: ice for a week, then heat, 6-8 weeks estimated heal time.  It's been 2 weeks since the most recent injury, discoloration finally fading out, knot not responding to treatment (Trish thinks it's a hematoma, could take months to go away), still plenty sore.

So, I'm benched indefinitely, limited activity, on waivers, seeking one-armed bandit work.  I'm the world's worst patient.  Impatient!  Hate it!