IN LOVE

"Art is the enemy of the routine, the mechanical and the humdrum. It stops us in our tracks with a high voltage jolt of disturbance; it reminds us of what humanity can do beyond the daily grind. It takes us places we had never dreamed of going; it makes us look again at what we had taken for granted."
- Simon Schama


Last week I received my advance-order of Historian Simon Schama's Power of Art from BBC America, and have been enjoying the episodes on David, Rembrandt, Turner, Caravaggio, Picasso, Bernini, Rothko and Van Gogh. Below is a photo of Schama on the left, with Andy Serkis who plays Van Gogh on the right.

Schama has the gift of storytelling, and this series takes it to the max with some re-enactment. But what I am in love with is the language of Schama's scripts. Our English language is always in flux, changing and growing and shrinking. Schama uses language as a painter uses color and brushes to enchant our imaginations and attention. He is a master.

On YouTube, there's an hour-long lecture by him re: his book Rough Crossings: Britain, the Slaves and the American Revolution given at Google in Mountain View:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mmcgwD8VRmI

The P of A series is also showing on KQED Channel 9 in the Bay Area at 9pm on Mondays. Check it out.

There is also a C BBC take-off on YouTube of Schama in which it seems he participated, at least vocally: Simon Schama and the Power Rangers of Art

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t4OcVtEUi6k

Americans find Brit humor pretty goofy, but I love it. It shows the Brits still know how to laugh at themselves, unlike us Yanks.

Meanwhile, I've let the laundry pile up and am struggling with the last chapter of my novella. I need to make that last chapter as finished as the first, and that is not easy. I found my original first draft written 7 years ago and it is still nearly word for word with refinement. But the ending, the ending must be changed almost completely.

KNITTA - WOMEN'S GRAFFITI

After spending millenia cleaning up, how else would women make graffiti?

Here is a tutorial put out by a group calling themselves Knitta who make colorful, cozy and removable/replacable wraps for urban objects:

Here are examples on monorail pillars, parking meters, ambulance antennae and even on a part of the Great Wall of China.

FATHER'S DAY

A photo of my Dad who would be 97 this year. This photo was taken in the 1930s. Born of sharecroppers, joined the Navy in WWII and, after a wartime marriage, settled in San Francisco.

Happy Father's Day.

AGAINST THE GRAIN

No posting for some time because I've been wrestling with a conundrum. It's my sixth year working at my current City job and I'm well aware I've never lasted longer than six years at any 9 to 5 job.

By the sixth year, it becomes clear that I have no interest in, or even conception of, office politics; that I resist change (especially at the expense of quality); and I'd rather be somewhere else. I've tried transferring out of my present department at least three times, but there's been no transfer spot for me. Not even at my beloved library, where I'd happily shelve books all day if they'd only let me.

I know I can be hard to get along with, have a bizarre sense of humor, and know so many trivial things from 50 years of compulsive reading that people think I'm a know-it-all.

A friend once told me she has her own business because she can't work for anyone else. She also doesn't support herself from her business; she has rental property and an undeclared side thing going on that really pays her bills.

A coworker put it well: this is a "get-by job". You come in, do your work and just get by. No risk, excitement, or fun.

My excuses are many: Too tired after putting in 8+1 hours a day to do anything else when I get home except the minimum, too busy with my family, too this and too that.

I comb arty neighborhoods for possible studio space. I've even rented space twice but found I never went there to do creative work. Just too tired, etc., etc., etc.

Don't wait too long, I hear a voice inside, railing me. I've lost friends younger than I am now to cancer, heart attack, and stroke.

To be continued....

NEWS FLASH: HANDMADE NATION

I just caught a mention on a craft blog that there's a new indie film coming out about the hand-crafting revolution. It's called Handmade Nation and the filmmakers are Micaela O'Herlihy and Faythe Levine. You can see a preview here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=evDFo6-RBVc

I notice most of the interviewees are of the younger persuasion. I hope there will be more of us Golden Girls in the completed film. We haven't all been sitting back quiet and passive; there were the civil rights, feminist and peace movements in our day, and many of us have been making our own stuff for ages, out of necessity. Who else taught these young whipper-snappers to shop in thrift stores and to use a sewing machine?

Kidding aside, I am SO excited about this film. I think it will be great fun and spread the word and ideas for more crafts and more DIYing. I'm proud to bits of this younger generation questioning consumerism and making their own goods and the fate of this nation, I hope.

Other film news: rented Notes on a Scandal which was okay. The acting was terrific but the story was kind of ho-hum, except for the emotional turmoil inherent in the situation.

Funnily enough, I then rented The War Zone, mostly because I've seen almost everything else in the Video Room, my local movie shop (kudos, they are great). I didn't know what it was about but I adore Ray Winstone and it's set in Wales. Also it's directed by Tim Roth, another favorite, and stars Tilda Swindon, yet another. It was a shoo-in.

Little did I realize that it would keep me awake half of last night. It demonstrated once more to me the power of film and of a well-constructed story, artfully told. As Tim Roth puts it in his commetary, so many "things are said without being said." The emotional impact is enormous, the conclusion inevitable, the truth of it irrevocable. Not for weak stomachs. Serendipity has once again brought me two films on similar themes that exist in different universes: Hollywood and the safe route and art. Correction: Art.

Now can I write these opinions up into a review? My next challenge.

I finished the first rough draft of my novelette, but realize one more chapter is required and some major and minor changes before sending a copy to the Writers' Guild for registration and then embarking on the mission of trying to sell it. More on that anon.

Today is Memorial Day and I want to give proper respectful attention to that observance. Each time I watch the News Hours and it winds up with the silent roll call of fatalities in Iraq, I want to weep: so many childmen and childwomen of 19 and 20 are shown. How can this be right?

WORK COMPLETED-FIRST DRAFT ANYWAY

I did what I set out to do last week. I got up every morning and headed straight to my computer, wrote, wrote, wrote. Took a break around noon to let my laptop cool off and eat, back to work, another break around 4 pm, then back to work, until 9 or 10 pm.

And I have 103 pages of a novelette in rough draft form. So I proved to myself that it can be done and I can do it.

And this has been one of my best vacations ever, except for my poor back muscles from sitting in this frigging chair. I have definitely been off in a very different space from my workaday world.

There's still work to be done on this story, it's rough. But the bones are done, now to add muscle and flesh to it, tone it up.

Good for me.

On the birthday front, my granddaughter turned four and had a small party as she requested.














Other news: the new location of East Bay Depot for Creative Reuse opened at 47th and Telegraph in Oakland in a store floored with ex-bowling alley wood. The space is sunny and gorgeous:

WORK IN PROGRESS

Tuesday, and I'm working on Chapter 4 of my Big Project.

The Birthday was a success. Mom and Dad took Princess and Prince to Marineworld and when they returned we had cake and played Princess Monopoly for about an hour. The Birthday Girl kept saying, "I LOVE this game," and "Everyone wins." She was so happy, she was jumping up and down.

We let her win, and the magic day ended.

Yesterday my son asked me to edit a creative writing project for a class which I did. He had poured his heart out in the text and I wanted to cry. It wasn't fiction, but the ring of truth was pure.

Then it was back to my own fiction project.

I'm racing the clock to get a rough draft done before I resume my ho-hum civil service job, my return to servitude.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

I've been busy churning out things for my granddaughter's fourth birthday which is today. First, a pair of "Hello Kitty" boxers, made on my newly tuned-up sewing machine:

Then a set of summer whites dyed via procion dyes to "orchid":

For the grandson, I iron-transferred childart from the Edinburgh Fringe Festival:

I babysat yesterday, finding that the Princess had drawn purple eyebrows on the cat and the Prince had a baby tattoo on one arm.

We had fun with only one half-meltdown.

As soon as I sat down with the baby on my lap, he went to sleep. I remember when my granddaughter at that age would run up to me on my arrival, cuddle into my shoulder and instantly fall asleep. What's not to love about being a grandmother?

For me: I'm taking a week off for a major, major project. I had five weeks of vacation saved up and decided I need to accomplish something NOW. I know what it is and I know how to do it. It is the doing that is the foil. It is the doing for ME, and not for my kid or grandkids. I've assembled all my materials and will begin work very soon.

Also this afternoon, I have to go check out the new site of East Bay Depot on Telegraph and maybe take some photos, write up an article. I drove by yesterday and there were picketers out in front. I hate crossing a picket line so will talk to them before going in.

Another beautiful sunny day outside. I'll also shop for wrapping paper and a birthday cake.

ON PLANET FLU

For a week or more, I've had a flu that laid me low. I won't offer details, too gross.

But better now, and I'm making a super-conscious effort to feed this precious body of mine with healthy, fresh "live" food that will build up my immune system.

Other things going on as well, but I shall not digress.

I was well enough on Sunday to have my babies over for luncheon.










Back to my recycling obsession--how cool is this?

A pretty basket made from soda bottle strips. A Japanese inventor, Takashi Utsumi, developed a device with which one can rapidly shred PET bottles into ribbons suitable for use in crafts. There are two types of PET shredder: F-200, which produces 2cm-wide ribbons; F-15/40, which produces 1.5mm to 4mm-wide ribbons. Unfortunately, these aren't available to us yet.

I think it's brilliant!

Although the very best thing we could do is invent a way to convert plastic back into oil. The Big Companies would be out sweeping up all the "trash islands" clogging our oceans and choking our sealife.


So much to do; so little time.

CHINA BEACH

I took this photo at China Beach on Easter Sunday, during a traditional walk with a friend who lives nearby. She prepared a fabulous dinner for her Italian family and upstairs neighbor and me, as she does each year. There were no kids there however, so it seemed very, very quiet.

I had to interview today for the job I've been doing for four years. The management of our civil service office has "redefined" our positions and all of us had to submit applications, take a two-hour test and interview as if we'd never met the panel before. Civil service is becoming more and more corporate--which I see as becoming more and more bottom line--which equals more work for us and far poorer service for those we serve.

I feel like the old farts who sit around and talk about how the world is going to hell in a handbasket, and we'll all right.

But take heart! Bush has finally admitted that "climate change" may be a problem. He lectured us today on how we need to take a look and find solutions to this issue. Excuse me, I think I'm going to spit up.

SAVED!!!

My friend/neighbor/mom-of-my-favorite-young-person emailed me after reading my last blog entry:

There's a lovely sewing machine on the floor at the back of my closet in the bedroom, just calling out to you: use me! use me! Last time I had room for it out of storage was when I made the curtains for K's room before he was born [about 12 years ago] --so it may need oil, and it may not be all you're used to, but the woman I inherited it from was a passionate sewer and I loved her machine. Please use it while you wait for yours, if you like.

I have a key to her house where my son is living while she and her son are in Taiwan, so I'll check it out tonight and see what I can whip up with this machine. Thank You, Lady L., and give your precious son a kiss for me.

Mine should be back, all tuned up, on Saturday.

Last night, went to Joanne's (blah!) but even they had no unicorn fabric. I settled for Strawberry Shortcake (sugary sweet, but the granddaughter loves her) and Spongebob Squarepants prints for the kids' spring shorts when at Gaga's house.

Unfortunately/fortunately, I live very close to Poppy Fabric on Broadway and College in Oakland where they have the most beautiful fabrics in the Bay Area. I stop often to check for remnants and sales and have already acquired quite a collection of their fabulous textiles.

Again, thank you, Lady L.

BEREFT

I took my Brother sewing maching into the shop for a tuneup & overhaul. Now I feel like my right arm is missing. Boohoo, so much fabric and nothing I can do until next weekend. My granddaughter wants a twirly, unicorn skirt. I almost bought some unicorn fabric online, but forgot my wallet this morning.

This aging thing is the pits. And being busy, busy, busy makes it worse.

But my son took a photo of me and the angels last weekend. I look goofy but the kids are gorgeous, so I'll post it here. Especially for my big brother Wild Willy. Hi, guy.

She is either giddy or sulky. He is now walking all over and loves slinking where he's not supposed to be when you're looking the other way. He's partial to kitchens, any kitchen.

She eats like a bird, He eats like a little horse, like his Dad.

I love them to bits. I could even live without a sewing machine if I had them.

SAN FRANCISCO IN 1906

I found this photo of my home town on Wikipedia (my new love). San Francisco is so recogizable in this photo taken from a kite flying 2000 in the air, six weeks after the Big One.

Except for today's bridges, towers and buildings.

You can engage a high-res version of this photo at: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:San_Francisco_in_ruin_edit2.jpg

History, my other love, continues to fascinate me. How things change, yet stay the same.

EDVARD MUNCH

Last night I watched a Peter Watkins film biography of Munch, an attempt to visually explain the creative process and to film stream-of-consciousness. It was extremely long and, for American viewers I'm sure, slow.

I found it haunting, and especially noted the characters looking into the camera in almost every scene. It's in Norwegian, of course, and has a Scandanavian intensity, probably rooted in the strong Protestantism of the place and time.

I can't help but pity poor Munch who never seemed to find love, and suffered from mental illness as well as TB. I'm still digesting the images and narration/ideas.

GIRL TALK

Being a grandparent is fabulous. You can't undo whatever mistakes you made raising your kids, but you can try to make it better with the next generation. I learned (the hard way) never to say anything negative about anyone in the family in front of kids.

My teenage son reproached me--many times--for telling him when he was a child that I was angry with his dad. Even that was too much. Because his dad is part of him, no matter what.

I love my "Girl Talks" with my four-year old granddaughter. Usually we have them at night when we're in my big bed and her baby brother is already sound asleep. She tells me her dreams and stories and jokes.

Recently I was driving them somewhere and her brother was napping. She and I were talking about the people we loved.

She will tell me she loves my house and wants to stay, but she is very shy about telling me she loves me, so I asked her, "Do you love Gaga?" She was very serious. She thought and said, "Yes, I love you."

I said, "I love you too, sweetheart, very much."

She then asked with some anxiety, "Do you love my baby brother too?" I told her, "Of course I love him. But I've loved you longer." She broke into a huge grin.

Later I want to tell her that she is special and she shouldn't give her heart or body to just anyone who comes along. She must be careful and patient and wait for people who really love her and will care for her. She's a long way from dating and socializing, but I want her to grow up with the realization of how precious she is.

My parents never told me anything like this. As a kid, I'd go to visit my Italian neighbors who called their children their "treasures". Treasures. What a culture shock. My parents were an very odd couple, Depression folks and Presbyterians, so any emotion was strictly taboo. Except anger and despair. We never would have thought of ourselves as their treasures. More like pains in the neck.

I did my best to give my only son joy and love and everything I could (and I'm still giving). He's nearing 30 now and with two kids, is realizing what his single mom went through. Goes around; comes around. As a friend told me, "Karma works."

MY FAVORITE TREE

I love this tree and finally got it together to get a photo of it.

Spent the evening playing with an old CD drive that my computer no longer has the driver for. All this craziness when you upgrade and the software companies make two-year old or older stuff obsolete. Maddening.

And maddening to be scolded by my manager today, as if I'm a five-year old child who is misbehaving. I can do one thousand things well and never get a word of praise, but let me stray from her strait gate and she's jumping down my throat.

Stopped by a fabulous little craft center in downtown Oakland called Rock, Scissors, Paper on Telegraph, but it was closed. I must go back and explore this craft revolution locus. Without people who are creative, I'd go stark raving mad.

UP AND ABOUT

Spent the last two days in bed with pain in head and chest. When I told my son I was coughing up stuff, he asked: "Like what? Sheep? Rabbits?" I wish sometimes he weren't bigger than I am.

Better today after a meal of crackers, cheese and two oranges. Felt well enough to go through some old Zip Discs and found some neat old graphics like this:

I'm back on a graphic quest of magical things like this, for kids and for me.

I want to make a teeshirt for our upcoming pagan festival that says, "Don't Piss Off the Faeries".

In the Ould Countries, Faeries are far from cute and harmless. They are vengeful little buggers who where once overcrowded by humans into the Underworld. They look for every chance to do us mischief. Read Terry Pratchett's Wee Free Men to get an idea of their shenanigans.

I hope my Big Brother Bill is still reading this and is well and happy. I'll try to post more family photos soon. As usual, it's after my bedtime again. Must post and get to bed.

A VERY DOGGY WEEKEND

Saturday night I took the kids to see a friend who has a two-year old cockapoo. My four-year old granddaughter fell in love with Max, who she said is "the coolest dog". My one-year old grandson, who is now walking, also adored the dog and chased him around the large living room (a room so large you could fit my whole house in it).

Then Sunday morning we met my son (aka "Daddy") where he was dog-sitting two large elderly rescue dogs in Fruitvale and we all walked them. My granddaughter fell in love with quiet gentle Gigi, a greyhound. Gigi looks a lot like this:











We steered clear of Alpha female Winona, a german shepherd who is sweet but very protective.

The baby screamed with joy during the whole walk. It was a chilly morning but gratifying and we talked alot about doggies and the care they need.

Whenever folks say they want to get a dog, I advise them that it's a lot like having a baby that never really grows up. There should be a real commitment to these animals, and they shouldn't be left alone too long--that's the rub. Dogs aren't for people with regular work hours unless they live nearby and can go home at lunch to walk the dog. Even with a large yard, dogs get lonely and bored and start cutting up. I learned this many years ago from experience and won't be a dogowner again until I can make that commitment.

VENICE

Thinking of "La Serenissima" today.

Other Americans flock to Disneyland; I'll take Venice, where the real magic is.

Why didn't parts of California's Bay Area develop into a Venice-like island network? We had the same kind of lagoon/bay and marshes. We didn't pound pilings into the muck to see if they would petrify. We just filled in vast areas of the San Francisco Bay, and built wooden shacks on the fill. Pity. But there was a Gold Rush and all that. And our weather can be a lot rougher as well.

Just think if we had no cars around the edges of the Bay and went everywere by boat? Instead of bicycles, we'd have little one- and two-rower gondolas. Police boats and garbage boats. Muni would run the vaporettos; the bus-like barges that carry passengers up and down the canals.

On land, we'd still have the cable cars and trollies of course. And, no doubt, automobiles.

Enough dreaming.

A writer I know has a blog titled "My Great Breast Cancer Adventure". You'll find it here:

http://janeunderwood.typepad.com/my_great_breast_cancer_ad/

Jane runs The Writing Salon with classes in San Francisco and Berkeley which I highly recommend. I took a screenwriting class there and loved it; it was worth every penny.

This blog of hers is about her daily life since she was diagnosed with breast cancer, had a lumpectomy, and is foregoing the chemo/radiation path for a more holistic lifestyle. She has much more than that going on, of course, and is a very good writer.

In a recent post, Jane talks about a "Alzheimer's moment" when she woke up, went into her bathroom and almost put toothpaste on her hairbrush.

I had such a moment today when, after having been scolded about coming into work late, I rushed around this morning in order to get out the door and to the office early for a change.

All went well until I arrived at work, realized I'd remembered to put on all of my clothes except for a bra. Luckily I wore an ironed cotton shirt with breast pockets so except for a little wiggling when I walked, I hope no one noticed. It's the first time I've been out of my house bra-less since the 1960's.

A KAHLO BY MCKEAN KIND OF DAY

It is so lovely outside today I can hardly stand it. And feel a bit freaky-tweaky like Dave McKean and crazy/wild like Frieda. So I found a combo of the two.

Couldn't we all be like either of these scrarily creative folks?

I remember a day like today when I was in a home ec class in high school. The elderly (my age now) teacher was droning on about something: sewing or cooking or some such womanly subject so uninteresting I can't even remember it.

The day outside was perfect like today and I thought why can't we go outside and sit on the grass while she talks? Why am I in here in the first place? Why don't I just get up and walk out and create a life for myself?

And today I'm thinking the same thing, forty years later. Instead of going home after eight hours of incarceration and trying to create in the meager three or four hours left to me, why aren't I working three or four hours and creating eight hours of the day?

Coward? Pragmatist? Realist? Whiner?

One of my favorite creators has a blog called Cally Creates: http://callycreates.blogspot.com/

I found her through art for housewives, my other daily creative dose: http://housewife.splinder.com/

And there are other, so many others.

Here's the rub: The more you explore what others are doing, the less you do yourself. Just as reading makes you feel as if you've been writing. But you haven't been writing; you've been passively reading. Better than passively watching TV or movies, but still not creating.