ragtags studio central: sarah's random this & that

Techniques! Tools! The Altered Page!

2011-10-21T21:32:00.001-06:00


Even though I'll be at a digital photography class in Denver City on Sun. October 23rd, you can also find me here, making a cameo appearance on Seth Apter's blog. Another fascinating peek into the minds & hearts of today's mixed media artists!

Secrets! Passions!

2011-08-24T17:50:00.002-06:00

Here's what Seth Apter has to say about his first book,

The Pulse of Mixed Media,

which will be released by North Light Books in March 2012:

"Working on this project has been nothing short of phenomenal.

With just over six months to go, there is still a lot of work to do.

Right now I am in the midst of my first round of manuscript editing

and, believe it or not, I am loving every minute of it.

In between all the hard work it takes to birth a book are many peak moments.

For me, one of these was seeing the cover for the first time.

And another peak moment is occurring right now in real time:

sharing the cover with you. I think I feel much like a new father

who sees his child as the most beautiful thing in the world."

Sweet sweat-er dreams...

2011-08-17T07:17:00.005-06:00

Here's another image for you to "borrow" -

no begging or stealing necessary, luvs!

In the good ol' summertime, some things are FREE!

2011-08-12T17:58:00.002-06:00

Calloo, callay! It's your lucky day! The two little rural kids in the galvanized tin (3rd pic down) are "Larry's half sisters". The pic of the little sisters splashing in the waves (4th down from the top) was shot in August 1920. The studio portrait with the sketched lighthouse in the background (the second pic) is one of my husband's grandmas (she's the pretty one on the right), and a great-auntie. That's all I know! Except, if you click on any of the images, you should be able to download a nice big image you can copy and use in your own collaged pieces. I'll post some more grist for your art mill on Facebook in a few hours. Until then: Have fun! Stay cool, and if like me, you are crazy about watching the skies, don't forget to check out the Perseids for the next few nights...

Gone camping...

2011-08-05T17:28:00.003-06:00

Hey, I thought this was MY field!

5 days * 4 nights* 4 adults * 6 kids * 3 pups * 30 horses * a chattering of chipmunks * a bevy of bats * several swallows * a couple of crows * 3 tents * a boatload of books * shooting stars * river rocks * a couple dozen rounds of Mafia * burritos smothered in green * black forest pudding cake cooked in a Dutch oven over the campfire * Mike's Hard Mango * Flip-Flop Pinot Grigio * and just under a million chiggers, skeeters, and horseflies --- priceless!

Pasticcio 12 Giveaway!

2011-07-23T15:17:00.004-06:00

Time for the promised giveaway...you'll get a signed (by the editors) copy of Issue 12, extras included. Here's all ya need to do:

1. Share this post on your page simply by pressing the SHARE button. Recommend this page to YOUR FB readers!

2. Leave a comment telling us which is your fave issue of Pasticcio to date (there have been 12 so far) and why. Tell us something you'd like to see or read about in a future issue.We'll do a random drawing on August 5th. Good luck!

Pasticcio Quartz - Arts Zine

Our summer 2011 issue is fresher than ever... Want eye candy? Palais d'Art will satisfy... Looking for inspiration? Seth Apter, Roxanne Stout, Laurie Zuckerman, Amanda Marie Ploegsma, and Suzi Blu have what you need! Art history... recipes... reviews... tips...travel... a virtual truckload of brilliant imagery delivered in a gorgeous, full-color, gift-worthy package. If you missed out on any of our past issues, you can still get 'em, and stack them up right beside your Adirondack, hammock, or porch swing to savor as you sip your signature summer concoction and while away the hours.

Nevadaville, Colorado

2011-07-03T12:20:00.000-06:00

Nevadaville is a short distance from Central City in Nevada Gulch. The town grew up in 1859-1860, and was originally called Nevada City. When a post office was established the name was changed by the Post Office Department to Bald Mountain because of possible confusion with a California camp. However, Nevadaville continued to be the name used by the residents. The post office operated from 1861-1921.

In 1861 Nevadaville was larger than Denver, and it rivaled Central City for a while. However, lack of water and uneven terrain hampered its growth.

The town was settled by Cornish on the western end and by Irish on the eastern. Battles raged between the groups until the 1890s, when they united to keep out an influx of miners willing to work for lower wages. The Cornish built an Episcopalian and a Methodist church; the Irish walked to Mass in Central City. Both groups drank and fought in Nevadaville's thirteen saloons.

Nevadaville experienced several booms of activity. It flourished in the early 1860s, just before World War I, and in the 1930s. Of course the metallic ores were the most popular, but radium ore has also been mined in the area.

Nevadaville has many interesting ruins and a few remaining residents. The 1879 Masonic Hall of the Rising Sun Tribe stands, as does the City Hall, which also housed the fire department and jail. The old stone house toward Central City was once a Buddhist temple for the Chinese larborers. Bald Mountain cemetery can be found about a mile west of town, and it is worth a visit. One tombstone still has a picture of its underlying resident, Estal Slater, who died at the age of 23 in 1895.

From Ghosts of Gilpin County by John K. Aldrich

So there's the background, here are highlights of our day:

It's a multi-faceted little top! Tabletop, that is...

2011-06-20T06:36:00.003-06:00

In case you missed this on Facebook, this is my old "coffeetable" after Jean McBride of Two Sisters Mosaics had her way with it. It was fabulous to have her brilliant update in time for my birthday...Click on the pic to see in its full and sparkly glory!

Summertime and the livin' would be easy. If we only had a heart, a brain, some wood, the noive...

2011-06-19T09:31:00.002-06:00

Thought I would make one of my lists over here. Write down intentions publicly and all that. So, summer. Right. We have almost arrived at the first of it. Today is Father's Day. Hope my husband, who is a really good dad, has a happy one, maybe with a little fun thrown in. Hope my Dad, who is not, also has a nice day. I should call him. And I will. And stumble around awkwardly, verbally, for a few minutes.

This summer seems strangely not. Summer. First off, it's still mostly rainy and cold EVERY DAY. I despair of the garden, on which we were depending. The soil is not conducive to baby seed growth and development, and the hail (multiple spates) sure didn't help. We keep plugging away; Hope Springs Eternal, cock-eyed optimism, and all that. Our neighbors are going to California for a couple of weeks, and said I can take all the roses I want from their yard, so flowers, at least, will fill vases. Yay! And there's a fresh library book for late at night, eliciting real and utterly spontaneous laughter - the author so horrifyingly, accurately captures and gets down on the page her 14 year old protagonist's life, and all it entails. In Zanesville by Jo Ann Beard. Highly recommended, along with The Language of Flowers, Vanessa Diffenbaugh.

And yet. Sooo...gone are the days of a real, honest-to-God realxing summer vacation. I have had to take a day here and there, but for other work, and obligations. Really, really want to go - somewhere - but that is out of the question. And Colin's working even harder than I am. We're definitely like Alice.

That said, my prospective list might seem to portend something lofty, something to improve the mental state, and capitalize on the positive. Well, it DOES, but probably not in the way you, dear reader, imagine.

What I ~~Want~~ Need for the Yard. To improve this summer (and future summers, one can hope, though in a world where we are actually AMAZingly well off, the whole concept seems terribly selfish). A short list. And for now, insurmountable. Though pretty confident I could make some of these, "if I only had the wood."

1) A hammock on a stand. Nowhere to hang the other kind. Afraid a cheap metal stand won't do, not sturdy enough; we need solid wood. (And yeah, this one, I might be in over my head trying to make...)

2) A bench, preferably a pretty, park-benchish style.

3) Another picnic table. There are now too many of us for just one.

4) A couple of colorful adirondacks.

5) A swing. (maybe)

(And maybe tomorrow, I'll think about replacing the broken blender pitcher, the entry way floor, and learn how to use the French press...)

Pasticcio 12

2011-06-11T13:44:00.004-06:00

Ahh - Musing Grace (for a Wednesday morning)

2011-04-19T22:03:00.002-06:00

Yes, it's Tuesday night. But I need to make sure I'm on time, and present, just in case you all come knocking on the Ragtags Studio door Wednesday morning 3am. Where have I been you might well ask? Gosh, it always seems like more of a commitment than I'm ready for, to actually sit down and post something worthwhile (aww, whatever made me think my posts hafta always be "worthwhile"? And who's to say what worthwhile even is anyhow??). If you know me from Facebook, Twitter, or Real Life(!), you know that the past year (and some) my life got a little more - what's that word? Harried? Frenetic? Impossible? You pick ... frankly, I'm too tired ... and yet, I still have a few thoughts, especially on the subject of grace.

Now when I'm NOT at work at the pre-school or gym, it's a stretch to think of doing anything besides curling up with an enthralling read, luxuriating in a steamy bubble bath, or to be realistic, just getting a decent night's sleep. But there are berry bushes and the coffee house geraniums to prune, children and grandchildren, and a husband to tend, friends and neighbors (and coworkers) to "be there for", and all of the daily commitments, duties, promises that make one's life a pleasure and a pain, that fill the days and craft the spirit of one trying to learn to serve.

So wherein lies grace? As an artist, I look for grace in moments (not infrequently stolen) of clarity and courage, the clarity of a piece moving forward, abounding with love and my halcyon vision, and the courage to see it through to the end, despite doubt and fatigue. And really, extrapolated to the whole of my life, courage and grace (and a wicked sense of humor) in veritable CinemaScope are what I pray for, each and every day of it.

Memoir of a movie tragical

2011-03-18T20:17:00.003-06:00

OK. Here's a story for you, I hope you haven't already heard it!
The year I was in third grade, I started school in Hanover, Illinois (the town with the Apple River running through it - we ice skated there, winters). Partway through the year we moved to Columbia, Missouri. We rented an upstairs apartment from Student Housing. John hadn't started school yet, Peter was a baby, my dad went to the U of M morning & came home in the afternoon when I got home from school so Mother could leave to work "3-11" at the hospital. My teacher's name was Miss Barbie & she LOOKED like Barbie, the brunette one with bubble hair. She was totally young & beautiful & she was nice, too. All of us who had her were crazy about her. In the spring she got married & her last name became Polish & unpronounceable. It took me a little while to find new friends at school, coming in the middle of the year, but I did get to be really good friends with one girl, Jane Preston, with whom, even though we moved to Arizona that next fall, I stayed pen pals for awhile. Her letters were very well-written. She was pretty & slender. She had a strawberry mark right over the bridge of her nose. If you went all the way to the edge of our schoolyard, there was a huge (or so it seemed at the time) drop-off & then dirt & a few trees below. One day at recess I climbed one of the trees with a boy & we kissed. That summer after third grade I got to take an early version of an enrichment class, studying insects. We had to make a butterfly collection & put pins through the center of poor, beautiful, dead butterflies. I also took ballet at the private girl's college, Stephens, for a few months. It was a gift from my grandparents, but I had no gift for ballet, so that was discontinued.

But none of this is what I want to tell you about. What I REALLY want to tell you about is how fine it was living in student housing. After school, & most of those summer days, I was free to run amok, as long as I took John & Peter. (My entire LIFE I've been free to run amok, as long as I took the kids with me - no matter whose they were. . .) That way my dad could sleep afternoons until suppertime, which he was willing to make pretty late. He's a very good cook. One time he asked us what we wanted & for a good joke, we sang out "Apple Dumplings!" so he made an enormous batch of really tasty ones. We ate as many as we could, but we were pretty scrawny kids with smallish stomachs & he was really disappointed that we didn't eat them all. Behind the student apartments was an enormous, somewhat hilly field at the far end of which was an abandoned cow barn. Beyond that lay the woods. We weren't allowed into those woods, unless my dad went too, which he occasionally did. 'Cause of being only 8, 4 & 1, I guess. They were damp, those woods. Sometimes we found shell fossils there. But we could go as far as the cow barn & play in it. Lots of us did. Our neighbors & playmates were all ages. In the late winter & early spring, when snow covered the field, after school & snow days, there were a jumble of sleds & snowsuits everywhere. One time Peter toddled off, I can't remember this at all, except for my mother's frantic searching. He obviously showed up somewhere.

But wait, none of THAT is even exactly what I thought was so fine. THIS is what I REALLY loved about living there: every Friday night as soon as it got warm enough, there were OUTSIDE movies!! Two things I love with all my heart, movies & being outside. You would have thought I'd died & gone to Hollywood Heaven's Drive-In, without the cars. All the kids & lots of grown-ups too, sprawled on blankets across the grass. Crickets buzzed while we watched Dumbo & cried. Cheaper by the Dozen got rained out right as they were all having their tonsils removed. But the best (& SADDEST) of all was The Glenn Miller Story. Talk about your tragical! & with just the best music ever...

It's the real thing

2011-02-14T06:44:00.000-07:00

And some in Velvet Gowns

2011-02-12T12:55:00.012-07:00

Hark, hark!

The dogs do bark;

the beggars are coming to town.

Some in rags and some in tags,

and some in velvet gowns.

Nursery Rhyme

Prologue

My two older daughters have often gritted their collective teeth in exasperation at how many times I have suggested miscellaneous costumes, names, titles, ideas, scenarios, etc. which though *obviously* clever, funny, terrifically witty to me, and even at times, they themselves, require explanation to EVERYone else in the world...

✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍

The so-called nursery rhyme above holds the key to one of the major components of my art business name, sarah fishburn: Designs & Ragtags. And it all harks back to childhood, from which I am a firm believer one must raise oneself up by the bootstraps if said childhood was something less than idyllic.

No precept was considered utterly sacred or immutable throughout my somewhat bohemian childhood; the awfulness of "begging" was the sole exception. Not only were we four kids not supposed to "accept charity"(outside of from our blood relatives - I certainly had to often as not wear ill-fitting cousin cast-offs) but, for example, we were not ever allowed to trick or treat. The man I married insists this was all because we really DID need help. Ironic...

One year I won a citywide essay contest and had no parent available to take me to the evening award ceremony, and told my teacher who consequently offered to fill in. It was touch and go, as that fell into the category of not simply charity, but begging on my part as well. Finally to my great relief, I was allowed to go, but it was not without repercussions and recriminations.

The saying is, "Pride goeth before a fall." My family's pride certainly did go before my fall. I grew up to be a woman who generally doesn't have much of a problem asking for things I want or need. World community is something I believe in with all my heart, so I try to be there for others as well, whether their needs are tangible or spiritual. The man I married is much more like my parents, and grandparents. I frequently find myself advising him to just ask for help when he needs it. More often than not, he ignores my advice and often as a result, does without.

Anyway. Back to the rhyme. According to several online sources (I edited the following):

The "Hark, hark! The dogs do bark" rhyme dates back to 13th century England. The origin...is steeped in history. Wandering minstrels, troubadours and beggars went from town to town singing their songs...Messages of dissent to the common people were often found in secret meanings in the words of their ballads. In this way, the propaganda of the day was passed from one community to another. These secret messages sometimes lead to plots and uprisings against the royalty, clergy, and politicians of the day.

But eh! Who cares for all that historical folderol? What a fabulous image comes to my mind's eye --- a raucous crowd meandering down the street, velvet gowns --- no doubt richly embroidered, if well-worn --- dragging through the dirt, ribbons streaming. Who cares if they're begging or carrying messages of revolution? All I knew then, and still believe now, is I want in. And if I have to beg for admission, so be it.

Spanish Gypsies

National Geographic 1917

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

2011-01-25T22:55:00.001-07:00

The New Colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Emma Lazarus, 1883

Ringin' in the new...

2011-01-01T22:25:00.005-07:00

So, hey. A lot going on --- and as usual, practically no time to write. Though you can ALWAYS catch me over on Facebook.
Gotta post some little SOMEthing for New Year's though, right?

Hmmmm...

Okay first, I wasn't able to meet my ROCKSTAR goal for 2010, but here's a list of my so-called resolutions for 2011. Already completed number 5, so that's good, right? Some are maybe (just a little) tongue in cheek. But still. The one about proviso and three year olds? I actually DID address that word to one of our kids at school - yes she's three (hey Maisy - maybe you're reading this blog! You ARE super smart...) right before vacation. A co-worker heard me, laughed, and only then did I think, oh, yeah I might shoulda thought about the fact that she's - well, three. On the other hand, what word better expresses the concept of proviso than, um, proviso?

13 Resolutions for 2011

Go somewhere fun, out of town
Make sure that two big issues of Pasticcio get published
Sew one thing from the book Sewing Clothes Kids Love
Sew one thing just for myself
Get out my winter clothes and put away summer clothes by Jan. 3 ✔
Make (at least one!) one new piece of art a month
Make a new friend???
Go on a (at least one!) hike
Come up with a novel idea
Get the crockpot out of the cupboard and use it at least twice a month
Use the word proviso or other advanced vocabulary words with 3 year olds on a weekly basis
Hang pictures on the opposite side of the hallway
Use good judgment when posting on Momo Lolo facebook page

So that's done. Yay.

Okay next. Please go here and you will see why I'm playing hooky from Riversong Waldorf Pre-School (shown partaking in a Willow Tree picnic below) on Friday the 7th. Wish me luck; this past year I have gotten used to the fairly constant awe, wonder, and yes, frequent laughter and equally frequent tears of those three year olds, and am not totally sure I can still inspire someone who has - well, quite probably a degree or two on me...

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, a new little babushka bébé joined our family. Yay again, and welcome to the world, beautiful Elspeth Dove, little sis to the ever darling Ezra Grace. Silver and Heather's tiny (albeit sweet) apartment may soon seem even tinier...

So there you have it; the best I can do...
I wish your 2011 will be filled with surprise and delight...simplicity and miracles. And most of all,
I wish you love ♥

Countdown, cont. (FELIZ NAVIDAD everybody!!!)

2010-12-21T13:10:00.005-07:00

Merry Christmas from the Family

Jill Sobule | Myspace Music Videos

By Request - The Rose Colored Velvet Love Seat Part 1

2010-12-20T16:20:00.002-07:00

Play back the circumstances and events of my life; I harbor few regrets, and none daily. Not having stick-straight hair, nor a pinto pony or palomino, and the tragic loss of our rose-colored velvet love seat are the exceptions. Thank God for product and straightening irons, and yes, I MIGHT someday lasso a horse. As for the third, no remedy seems likely. We left it behind years ago; flying back to the desert, we gave it away to a friend. He was getting married and after all, a plane is not a boat. Unquestionably, through either miracles or hard work, heavier losses to other people have been overcome.

Details are what truly matter --- you know, it’s always the little things. Our lives hinge upon, and play out amid exquisitely, often achingly felt, then remembered, touches, sights, smells. Acts of living are accomplished in scenes set upon stages we each craft to our particular muse.

Picture a city --- Chicago comes to my mind, but pick another if it suits you. It’s early summer, a fair number of years ago --- not too many, say 33, more or less. The neighborhood is mostly Puerto Rican, a little Creole. Radios through open windows inform us, sweetly --- and we can dance to it --- that we are the sunshine of Stevie Wonder’s life. Edgier unknowns are heard, too. Their fingers and lips interpret Hancock and Corea and mimic Muddy Waters, from within shadowed (though wide open) doorways. Platform shoes create a back-up rhythm and say “Hey, babe, take a walk on the wild side.”

Think of a girl --- a pale young woman, a girl really, appears on the sidewalk, heading for a cross street further up Halsted from Cornelia. A bit bedraggled, generosity compels us to fashion her Bohemian. Filigreed opal earrings, camisole, sandals, and a long handmade skirt comprise her everyday costume. With a black gypsy scarf covered in enormous vintage roses holding back long, ever unruly hair, she’s like a kid from some Wild West version of Hester Street. Truth be told, the girl stopped here, in this midwestern town, where Marshal Fields meets the lake shore, and took an available third floor walk-up. Coming from the clear blue heat of earlier years spent in New Mexico, she hadn’t the heart to continue further east where (at least the semblance of) prairie gave way to Indiana.

Imagine the hour --- earlier that day, on an especially roundabout way home from work, she notices it, past the window box flowers and street reflection, just inside the junk shop door. Stepping inside, she smiles and happily approaches the owner. It’s a good sign, she thinks, that no one bought it “in the meantime”. Two other pieces catch her eye. A little piano bench and botanical print (“Gurka vit.”) aren’t quite so dear; she schleps them home on the bus that afternoon.

A week or two later, she returns for the rose-colored velvet love seat, pays a second or third installment, pulls it out through the shop door and continues down the several blocks to her old brick apartment building. She stops occasionally to catch her breath, sits down on the love seat right there on the sidewalk. The wood trim of the arms and the feet have a nice, just-polished sheen. It’s in perfect condition. People passing her admire it. That velvet is such a lovely shade of dusty rose --- just like the sky over the west mesa late in the afternoon, when the green chile smells of everyone’s kitchens begin to mingle and entice. And really, it was SUCH a bargain, though of course she had had to scrimp some, and save.

At the foot of the steps inside the front door of her building, the girl is momentarily distracted by the row of mailboxes. She can tell at a glance if there’s mail; she can see it through a slot. There’s something anyway; an eagerly awaited note from home, a plea, a prayer, a promise. She’ll come back downstairs for it later. On the 2nd floor, someone comes out to help her the rest of the way. His door closes on a room crowded with people, guitars, old women, music, glasses clinking, and babies crying. Once the 3rd floor landing is attained, he heads back down and she pushes her treasure into the apartment. A couple of panes in the bay window are open and there’s a light breeze off the lake. The apartment is nearly empty of household goods, except for a borrowed radio, two enameled cereal bowls, a handful of silverware and small paring knife, a Baby Ben that keeps falling out a window onto the alley below, a few postcards (reproductions of Symbolist art) and a vintage photo postcard of a dancer. There’s really nothing of any value.

The radio plays something new. At least, the girl thinks, I haven’t heard it before. Dancing in the Moonlight. Centered in the living room, the rose-colored velvet love seat looks perfect. The pretty botanical print of the fresh from a turn-of-the-century garden, Swedish cucumbers hangs just to its left, and the little piano bench completes the tableau. She keeps walking back into the room to admire it as she runs a bath.

By Request - The Rose Colored Velvet Love Seat Part 2

2010-12-20T16:18:00.000-07:00

The Rose-colored Velvet Loveseat - Part Two

She was crazy about the city. The clatter and hummed cacophony, the hot smell of buses, cars, the El, and doorway cafés, stolen hours at the Art Institute, stolen meals at the Midnight Jewel.

She imagined herself a sort of pioneer, only backwards...Leave the contents of desks and drawers, the potted geraniums on windowsills. Begin your travels from a quieter, slower, western place. A place where the reason for waking up before anyone else - or maybe never even going to bed at all - is because by 6, the sky is already the clearest, thickest blue imaginable. A blue you could fall into. Just lay on your back and look up. Breathe deep, catching gulps of wind, dirt, piñon. In the foothills, in the valley, in your yard; it's all the same. A blue you can get lost in.

They say at higher altitude, out west, the air thins. She knew that was wrong, some sort of miscalculation formulated by someone in a closed in space. Someone scribbling notes and equations as they breathed the permanently recycled air locked in the building with them. She found herself traveling toward the true drawn, thin air, further east, where buildings were constructed of metal and glass instead of - face it - mud. The city's suburbs were different; someone had once tackled prairie, mountains, even desert, as muse and revelation. But the catenary of the the lakeshore craved height for balance, and the architects of the city proper were quick to capitalize. The city's heartbeat had her mesmerized. And she had a story. She was looking for adventure. Looking for herself. Eastward bound. A pioneer.

And yet. In an achingly halcyon, long ago summer, romance met reality.

The rose-colored velvet love seat was more comfortable than the tattered sleeping bag on the floor in the bedroom. Even with no pillow, even with no throw, it seemed cozy; it held the heat of the day long after the last strains of Good-bye Pork Pie Hat drifted through the open window on a cool lakeshore breeze. She had intended to eat something earlier. Maybe run out for Greek, just up Halsted, but the letter - 7 pages, both sides, typewritten - made her forget. She really should have left it in the box, Return to Sender, or thrown it away unopened. Passersby below (she was on the third floor) looked up, saw only a dark and empty window. She thought she could steel herself. She thought she possessed an iron core. Instead she cried far into the night.

First light, the crack of dawn, night breeze turned morning; "sleeping" on the love seat was a habit that would long follow her. But now she was nearly late. Down the block she ran, past sidewalk marks - Latin Eagles are now (apparently) Eating Bagels - and it's-time-for-supper-the-night-before abandoned and forgotten toys. Around the corner early risers - or had they walked the streets awake all night, too? - called out their "Hey, pretty mama"s and she flashed them each a quick and rueful grin. It wasn't their fault. The doors of the corner bakery where she worked were already propped open to let some of the inside heat out. "Hey," she called, " I made it."

Countdown

2010-12-20T11:27:00.000-07:00

"and he was in the coffeehouse business"

2010-12-14T12:46:00.000-07:00

"The first coffeehouses in the district --- two spare neighboring rooms called Edgar's Hobby and David's --- had opened in the late 1940s for the area's Italian population. Their inheritors --- more than a dozen places all around the Village with progressively whimsical names such as the Figaro, the Rienzi, the Caricature, the Cafe Wha?, the Dragon's Den, the Bizarre, the Why Not?, and the Hip Bagel --- now offered folksinging (sometimes mixed with poetry readings, jazz, and comedy) to the mobs of weekend visitors, including uptown residents who would stroll around the Village, just minutes from their homes, as if it were a resort. The owner of a small garage on West 3rd Street, a block south of Washington Square, took a threadbare wool couch with one leg missing and miscellaneous battered furnishings from neighborhood trash piles, tacked a "Folk Music" sign on the front wall, and he was in the coffeehouse business."

David Hadju

Positively 4th Street: The Lives and Times of Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, Mimi Baez Farina and Richard Farina

You're Invited

2010-12-11T13:37:00.000-07:00

it was a dark and stormy night

2010-12-10T19:32:00.000-07:00

(1968) Randy Newman

Broken windows and empty hallways
A pale dead moon in the sky streaked with gray
Human kindness is overflowing
And I think it's going to rain today

Scarecrows dressed in the latest styles
With frozen smiles to chase love away
Human kindness is overflowing
And I think it's going to rain today

Lonely, lonely
Tin can at my feet
Think I'll kick it down the street
That's the way to treat a friend

Bright before me the signs implore me
To help the needy and show them the way
Human kindness is overflowing
And I think it's going to rain today

This a testing, Walker? You reckon we been slack?

2010-12-09T16:29:00.000-07:00

{Feels like} a Flash from the Past

2010-12-09T16:16:00.000-07:00

Was on ebay for some reason the other day and happened to run across this review (see below) of In This House! Makes me wanna read it - and very glad I wrote it! Thanks Janet, for at least nudging me to revisit!

"I'm so very pleased that I took a chance on buying In This House. I half expected it to be a tutorial and that I might get a little more inspiration for my own work. I was delighted to note, during the first flip through, that it is so much more than that.
I think that many people want to use their skills to make "altered art" and "altered books" and what happens so often is just a hodgepodge of junk or repeats on the same themes. There is not much staying power.
This book presents a challenge, a simple house shape, asking the contributing artists to use the template to build a book that illustrates what home is to and for them. They are left to make of the challenge what they will.
What emerges is a neighbourhood of artists. A map is even supplied to help the visitor get to know the lay of the land.
At each house we are bid welcome to come in explore and make ourselves at home. Each chapter is a new house to visit, with a new mistress to get to know, her personality, her sayings, her heart's decoration (bloom where you are planted), the memory verses that keep her propped-up. We see her strengths and style, stories that are shared and secrets we must keep.
After our visit we have a chance to have a one-on-one with the lady of the house, the artists, and within a 2 page exchange we have a chance to have some questions answered.
I was reminded of my time as a young bride running to neighbours to learn a skill as my mother lived some distance from me. The doors of some houses were more welcoming than others and the advice whether it worked for me or not was always free.
Tonight is my 4th night in the book. I have so enjoyed it, I have been pacing myself and only allowing 2 houses a night. I love the ideas that are unspoken in this book (a) Some houses are small and some bigger (more pages).
(b) Each artist chooses her strengths plus practical skills to use to feather her nest.
(c) The mistress of the house can be true or imaginary.
(d) She chooses the time, situation and story.
I find the whole thing so familiar as I live on a block of 95 year old houses. There are 9 houses on a row that were all put up the same summer by the same company. Some like mine have had 5 owners while others 27. Some are happy houses while one is the divorce house (no marriage has survived it) We have built good relationships and taught each other many things but every house though architecturally the same is completely different landscaped and inside.
This book brings the idea of community together.
Although I have not completed In This House yet, I am already regretting finishing it. I feel that I know these ladies though we have never met, another cup of tea would be wonderful. I almost wish that the last page had photos of each of them...but I guess we know enough.
Finally I truly feel that this creative effort - book - is a resounding success. Yes I will use it as a resource book for techniques but more that that, it challenges me to put me on the page. To reveal myself or my character with conviction. A more critical eye to stay true to this value will be more important to me now in my altered work and not just to combine random items because they are pleasing to my eye.
To the collaborators and the editors, bravo. In This House will be enjoyed and shared for years to come. It stands on its own as a gallery of amazing art.
Now to knock on the doors of houses 7 and 8..."
Janet Hannam

"Thanksgiving is a special night"

2010-11-25T20:08:00.002-07:00

Be patient - the comm is annoying but short!

Oh happy day!

2010-11-25T07:57:00.002-07:00

oh oh oh

2010-11-22T22:03:00.000-07:00

Over @ The Altered Page

2010-11-21T21:21:00.003-07:00

Seth included a snap of a corner of a shelf in Art, my studio. . .

click on either of the images above to go to

this Sunday's post @ the Altered Page for the Big Picture!

espresso and existential doubt

2010-11-20T21:55:00.007-07:00

"In the bohemian pockets of most major cities and college towns around the country in the 1950s, coffeehouses modeled upon European cafés emerged with foreign-film festivals and bookstores that sold imports of Henry Miller novels as outposts of intellectual and sensual dissent: the Blind Lemon in Berkeley, the House of Seven Sorrows in Dallas, the Green Spider in Denver, the Gas House in Los Angeles, the Laughing Buddha in St. Louis, the Drinking Gourd in San Francisco. "You could walk from New York to California by just stepping from one coffeehouse to another without touching ground," Oscar Brand joked. Their allure was conspicuously counter-American at a high point in the United States' world prominence - espresso and existential doubt, no cocktails, no glitz, an appealing combination to postwar college students seeking their own generational identity. The original sound of the milieu was jazz, a music recently abandoned by the mainstream American public. As folk surfaced, it spread into the coffeehouses; earthy, unpackaged, economical, and cool, it fit naturally with the Middle Eastern sweets and the cigarettes. In Cambridge, the center of artistic radicalism around Boston since James Russell Lowell wrote The Bigelow Papers in the 1840s, the first European-style coffeehouse opened in 1955; run single-handedly by its owner Tulla Cook, the Coffee Grinder was a dim, unadorned place, no larger than a living room, on Mt. Auburn Street, a block from Harvard Square. There were no performers, just Tulla's AM radio. At the coffeehouses that opened after it, the Cafe Yana, the Salamander, the Golden Vanity, the Unicorn, and Club 47 - music soon predominated. "One night I walked past the Cafe Yana and heard this jazz coming out and went inside - the room was full of conga drums," recalled guitarist Peter Rowan, who grew up in rural Massachusetts and visited Cambridge as a teenager. "Harvard Square was jazz music. It was mostly college people, and they were talking about William Burroughs and Allen Ginsberg, or trying to. It was turtlenecks and skinny girls. It was very Beat Generation. The next week I walked past and looked in the window, and some girl was playing the guitar, and there were fifty guys in tweed jackets smoking pipes sitting on the floor, and I said, 'Well, this is different.' " If the young scholars of Harvard Square were seeking something anti-intellectual as a respite from or a challenge to academic authority, they could no longer presume to find it in jazz, which had grown in esteem to be regarded as a highly advanced, serious music. In folk, however, Cambridge intellectuals could find all the anti-intellectualism they wanted.

Joan, Debbie, Betsy, and their friends spent nearly every night in the coffeehouses, soaking up the atmosphere and becoming familiar with the music and the Harvard boys. "If you were cool, that's what you did," Betsy recalled. "The best guys were there - that was the 'in' scene.""

From Positively 4th Street
The Lives and Times of Joan Baez,

Bob Dylan, Mimi Baez Fariña and Richard Fariña

by David Hajdu, pub. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, NY 2001

Got to be a better life than what you got planned

2010-11-14T17:07:00.000-07:00

Bangles (again) - cover Hazy Shade of Winter, Less Than Zero

This Little Bird

2010-11-14T14:47:00.003-07:00

There's a little bird that somebody sends
Down to the earth to live on the wind.
Borne on the wind and he sleeps on the wind
This little bird that somebody sends.

He's light and fragile and feathered sky blue,
So thin and graceful the sun shines through.
This little bird who lives on the wind,
This little bird that somebody sends.

He flies so high up in the sky
Out of reach of human eye.
And the only time that he touches the ground
Is when that little bird
Is when that little bird
Is when that little bird dies.

Every other day of the week is fine

2010-11-08T07:53:00.002-07:00

Weatherproofing

2010-11-07T18:32:00.000-07:00

The Groupon Guide to: Weatherproofing

With winter looming, families everywhere have begun the arduous process of tightly sealing their homes to save on heating costs. What are some tips for weatherproofing your domicile?

Windows: If you plan to keep windows closed all winter, try covering them with plastic wrap and sealing them with tape. Keep a bat trapped underneath the plastic, because his frantic flapping will generate body heat and flap away chilly breezes. Replace bat weekly.
Pipes: Frozen pipes can generate plumbing problems or even burst and result in flooding. Hardware salesmen might recommend an expensive indoor flamethrower, but, for a cheap eco-friendly solution, try gently warming your pipes with your tongue.
Doors: Doors are just burglar-sized windows. Protect your home from clime and crime by removing them from the hinges and tightly packing the doorway with an upright inflatable raft. Impress your neighbors by writing "Welcome!" on the bottom and, because the raft can't be budged for them to enter, "Sorry."

Rockaway Bees +

2010-11-07T18:29:00.000-07:00

Rockaway Taco, A Selby Film from the selby on Vimeo.

EXTRA! EXTRA!

2010-10-25T10:34:00.000-06:00

From KC's Lipstick Ranch blog post, Wednesday, October 20th:

"There's not a whole lot of folks in the world who know about this Colorado Collage Conference with Jenny Doh and Sarah Fishburn, The Faith-based Conference...Imagination Congregation is a well-kept secret....and Rebecca Ersfeld (of Vintage Living fame) is joining me in March for this vision of mine.

So how do we get the word out about these special, (limited to only 25 folks) events? How about if I told you that I am collaging a box, as we speak. In that box will be special goodies packed just for you from the studios of Jenny Doh, Sarah Fishburn, Rebecca Ersfeld and Yours Truly. Talk about Christmas coming early! I can't wait to see what they put in the box! Oh I love surprises!

So take a peek at these 2 amazing events and tell your friends in a blog with a link to www.studioretreats.ning.com (or e-mail to your list)...write back here and let me know you did that (with a link to your gushing words) and you are in the drawing. I will ask one of these wonderful women to draw a name on October 30th.

Thanks my friends....

You see...I have a vision...and you are in it.

Love you. Mean it."

Me, too. I mean, Love you! And hope ya win...

Don't you make no lifer outta me...

2010-10-20T22:33:00.002-06:00

Can the child in my heart rise above?

2010-10-19T06:48:00.000-06:00

Landslide - Stevie Nicks

You have climbed the hills with me

2010-10-19T06:44:00.000-06:00

Since You Asked - Judy Collins

I can't do what ten people tell me to do

2010-10-19T06:40:00.000-06:00

Sitting On The Dock Of The Bay - Otis Redding

11 days in...

2010-10-18T07:09:00.000-06:00

11 days in...12 to go. I hope you all have been listening to these snippets of musical craziness, delight, and evocation with an open ear, heart, and mind! I hope I have reminded you how much you loved something (or someone) and introduced you to someone else who made you laugh, or cry, or nod your head...

Some Exquisite Noise for a rainy Monday

2010-10-18T06:58:00.000-06:00

Tutti Frutti - Fishtank Ensemble

Jazz after hours

2010-10-18T06:52:00.000-06:00

Naima - John Coltrane

Chinese music under Banyan trees

2010-10-18T06:47:00.000-06:00

Aja - Steely Dan

If you need me, call me

2010-10-17T09:18:00.000-06:00

Ain't No Mountain High Enough as performed by Diana Ross

Be Courageous and Be Brave

2010-10-17T09:15:00.002-06:00

Forever Young - Rod Stewart

(this one's for you, Mum)

In the day we sweat it out in the streets of a runaway American dream

2010-10-17T09:12:00.000-06:00

Born to Run - Bruce Springsteen

An elephant never forgets

2010-10-16T08:34:00.004-06:00

People Got A Lotta Nerve - Neko Case

Burning like an angel who has heaven in reprieve

2010-10-16T08:28:00.001-06:00

Dance with Me, covered by Nouvelle Vague

When you are alone at night you search yourself for all the things that you believe are right

2010-10-16T08:24:00.000-06:00

Perfect Kiss - New Order

The summer had inhaled and held its breath too long

2010-10-15T08:11:00.001-06:00

Comin' Back to Me - Jefferson Airplane

The room was humming harder

2010-10-15T08:08:00.001-06:00

A Whiter Shade of Pale - Procol Harum

Touch me with chivalry

2010-10-15T08:04:00.000-06:00

December's Boudoir - Laura Nyro

Have a Jazzy Blue Thursday!

2010-10-14T06:28:00.000-06:00

Sweet Home Chicago as performed by Buddy Guy

2010-10-14T06:25:00.002-06:00

Hobo Blues - John Lee Hooker

2010-10-14T06:23:00.000-06:00

Alabama, as performed by John Coltrane

and I say it's all right

2010-10-13T06:50:00.001-06:00

Here Comes the Sun, cover: Richie Havens

Please share my umbrella

2010-10-13T06:48:00.003-06:00

Bus Stop - The Hollies

You can't jump a jet plane like you can a freight train

2010-10-13T06:47:00.001-06:00

Early Mornin' Rain, performed by Gordon Lightfoot

And now for something completely different

2010-10-12T06:38:00.001-06:00

I Got You Babe covered by Marianne Faithfull & David Bowie

Beat your wild & roving wings

2010-10-12T06:36:00.001-06:00

Raven Girl - Richard & Mimi Fariña

All these things that don't change come what may

2010-10-12T06:23:00.002-06:00

Four Strong Winds performed by Ian & Sylvia

Exquisite Noise, cont. (Brought to you by: The Eighties)

2010-10-11T05:30:00.002-06:00

West End Girls - Pet Shop Boys

What's a boy in love supposed to do?

2010-10-11T05:27:00.002-06:00

Oh L'Amour - Erasure

Over and over

2010-10-11T05:24:00.003-06:00

Crimson & Clover, covered by Joan Jett

Exquisite Noise, cont: One of these days I'm gonna stop my listenin'

2010-10-10T00:19:00.002-06:00

Society's Child - Janis Ian

Tell your childen not to do what I have done

2010-10-10T00:16:00.001-06:00

House of the Rising Sun as performed by The Animals

There's room at the top

2010-10-10T00:13:00.000-06:00

Working Class Hero cover - Cyndi Lauper!

You're driving me mad

2010-10-09T08:28:00.002-06:00

Magnolia as performed by JJ Cale

My heart needs protection

2010-10-09T08:25:00.002-06:00

Lotta Love as performed by Nicolette Larson

Midnight

2010-10-09T00:05:00.002-06:00

Midnight at the Oasis as performed by Maria Muldaur

23 days of Exquisite Noise

2010-10-08T20:52:00.002-06:00

I Got A Feelin' as performed by Pentangle

October Song

2010-10-08T20:29:00.002-06:00

(Incredible String Band cover)

PASTICCIO 10!

2010-09-11T21:24:00.003-06:00

PASTICCIO 10 is READY!

And speaking of the Time Warp continuum...

2010-09-05T18:58:00.002-06:00

Though Mardis Gras is long over for 2010,

couldn't wait 'til next year to post this gorgeous graphic.

And if by the future, I mean next week...

2010-09-05T18:39:00.002-06:00

Then yes, for Pasticcio 10, the future is almost here!

Out of the past...into the now

2010-09-05T17:04:00.002-06:00

Summertime...

2010-08-15T23:51:00.004-06:00

Yeah, yeah. Haven't posted in weeks. Life. Work. Momo Lolo. Whatevs. Here's a photo I took last summer on the mean streets of NYC, digi-altered to look like an old newspaper pic. Cool effect, eh?

And the livin' is easy...

2010-07-28T06:53:00.002-06:00

I need to make some time just to sit on my stoop (though last night I barely got as far as thinking, I should sweep this sucker off...um, no I didn't get to it)

Peep Peep Cheep Cheep

2010-06-29T08:18:00.000-06:00

Here's a giveaway I'd love to win, over at BeachBrights...

And by the way --- love love love her blog banner...

Tiny Yellow Houses Episode 1

2010-06-28T08:45:00.001-06:00

Still more Fishtank...

2010-06-24T09:26:00.004-06:00

And yes, I still want to marry them...

Pasticcio news

2010-06-12T08:49:00.000-06:00

(Here's your quick sneak peek of mine and Angela's oh-so-cool collaborative Pasticcio 10 first page art.)

We have A Winner!

2010-06-02T15:38:00.000-06:00

I loved hearing all your beach (+) book recommends. The random number generator has picked a winner of Holly Harrison's Altered Books book - and it is --- *JANET GHIO*. Please send me your mailing info, Janet! And congratulations!

Here's one for YOU

2010-05-27T10:44:00.002-06:00

From Penguin Publishers:

Ireland, 1959: Young Christy Hurley is a Pavee gypsy, traveling with his father and extended family from town to town, carrying all their worldly possessions in their wagons. Christy carries with him a burden of guilt as well, haunted by the story of his mother's death in childbirth. The peripatetic life is the only one Christy has ever known, but when his grandfather dies, everything changes. His father decides to settle down temporarily in a town where Christy and his cousin can attend mass and receive proper schooling. But they are still treated as outsiders.

As Christy's exposure to a different life causes him to question who he is and where he belongs, the answer may lie with an old newspaper photograph and a long-buried family secret that could change his life forever...

A book for a book ---

2010-05-23T14:07:00.001-06:00

I have a copy of Altered Books, Collaborative Journals, and Other Adventures in Bookmaking to GIVE AWAY...just leave a comment and include in it both your contact info and your recommendations for the perfect book to take to the beach (or any getaway!) this summer - ANY genre - art, fiction, whatever - simply put, a book that blew your sox off...and you'll get a chance to win this fave of mine, by Holly Harrison.

I'll hold the drawing June 1st; oh, and, btw, good luck!

Studio pix

2010-05-17T09:16:00.003-06:00

I originally posted all of these pix on Facebook yesterday,
then realized a few of you have Facebook issues, so here ya go!

More True Colors {behind the scenes}

2010-05-14T23:18:00.002-06:00

I kept a separate journal of the pages I made for each of the True Colors journals, notes from the other artists, etc. This was a re-purposed coaster, a mini extra to go with pages in Monica's little Green book.

Did you see my True Colors?

2010-05-14T22:47:00.000-06:00

Confession: I'm addicted

2010-05-10T18:30:00.000-06:00

to this PBS series:

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

2010-05-09T14:58:00.002-06:00

Did YOU see that little red-winged bird today?

2010-05-06T10:03:00.002-06:00

I did! Thanks for sharing this, Masasa...

Happy May Day!

2010-05-01T12:20:00.001-06:00

Long Live the Festival of

the Workers of All Countries

More telltale fragments

2010-04-27T10:49:00.002-06:00

Here's another of the pieces in the telltale fragments/vagabond shard series from the Designs & Ragtags vault.

January 18, 2006, Redux

2010-04-24T08:25:00.000-06:00

Only fifty of "My Favorite Things" in absolutely no special order, first posted Jan. 18, 2006, mostly still totally true (at least I'm consistent!):

1. retro & vintage snapshots of girls with braids, or wearing plaid
2. "Paris" perfume (no longer available?)
3. things which smell like peaches
4. dusk
5. my kids
6. the color pink
7. taking hot bubble baths without the phone ringing
8. road trips
9. the movies
10. all of my friends
11. surprising someone with a gift
12. music from the '60s & the '80s
13. the original Oh! de London perfume by Yardley
14. black boots
15. funky scarves
16. bookstores
17. my grandchildren
18. Chicago
19. long flowery skirts
20. cozy cardigans
21. The New York Times
22. a sunny day at the beach
23. a cloudy day at the beach
24. Fiestaware
25. frames made of weathered wood, with a hint of color still there, or added on
26. mobiles made from seashells & driftwood
27. thinking about my grandparents
28. Urban decay make-up, including the names, like "Gash"
29. train stations
30. dangly earrings
31. capri pants
32. a long leisurely massage
33. the art of Marc Chagall
34. black 3/4 sleeve v-neck leotards
35. yogurt
36. vintage ribbons, esp. plaid
37. graffiti
38. finishing a project
39. cut flowers in things not intended to be vases
40. making art in a well-appointed cabin in the mountains
41. spray paint
42. Champagne
43. the Internet
44. zines
45. Irish Coffee made with Scotch whiskey!
46. daisies
47. vintage glitter
48. the art of Peter Max
49. being surprised with a gift
50. walking down a city street

Oh Frabjous Day!

2010-04-23T07:02:00.004-06:00

Want a chance to win a copy of Pasticcio 9?

Go here, read my Gauche Alchemy interview

and find out how you can!!! Calloo, callay!

Need a Vacation? Visit Unlake Michigan!

2010-04-14T11:41:00.004-06:00

You won't return the same

take-it-all-for-granted kid

you were when you set out.

Quick take!

2010-04-07T22:53:00.002-06:00

Apolgies! No time to really, truly, post... must get a few minutes of sleep, and YET! I have to tell you! I'm totally captivated by The Forgotten Garden by Kate Morton. And to think I almost passed this one by! What!? Was I nutz!?:

The Forgotten Garden

A lost child...

On the eve of the first world war, a little girl
is found abandoned on a ship to Australia.
A mysterious woman called the Authoress
had promised to look after her -
but the Authoress has disappeared without
a trace.

A terrible secret...

On the night of her twenty-first birthday, Nell O'Connor learns a secret that will change her life forever. Decades later, she embarks upon a search for the truth that leads her to the windswept Cornish coast and the strange and beautiful Blackhurst Manor, once owned by the aristocratic Mountrachet family.

A mysterious inheritance...

On Nell's death, her grand-daughter, Cassandra, comes into an unexpected inheritance. Cliff Cottage and its forgotten garden are notorious amongst the Cornish locals for the secrets they hold - secrets about the doomed Mountrachet family and their ward Eliza Makepeace, a writer of dark Victorian fairytales. It is here that Cassandra will finally uncover the truth about the family, and solve the century-old mystery of a little girl lost.

"Take the pencil in hand,"

2010-04-03T00:01:00.001-06:00

"Take the pencil in hand," the first sentence told me, "and draw a line."
I took the pencil in hand. I drew a line.
"Draw a circle." I drew a circle.
"Draw a square." I drew a square.
"Have you completed all these commands correctly?" the page asked, and it offered a picture of each thing, just in case I needed a reminder of what they were supposed to look like.
I studied my line. I studied my circle. I studied my square.
All appeared to me to be as good as what I saw printed next to directions, though maybe not as sharp and bold and exact -- but I hadn't used a ruler or a compass or anything, so what would you expect?
"Are they just as they appear in the illustrations?"
I checked again. I had done what I was supposed to.
"Then we wish you sincere congratulations!" the words told me.
"Now you are an artist."
Suzanne Strempek Shea

Swing lightly, and clean up the mess.

2010-04-02T06:29:00.004-06:00

From the New York Times this morning:

It may not warrant a special designation from the United Nations, but Saturday is International Pillow Fight Day. Leave your jammies on, grab a soft, non-feather pillow, and head to Union Square for the fifth annual event. The fight, which is timed to coincide with other fights around the world, is hosted byNewmindspace, which produces "interactive public art, creative cultural interventions and urban bliss dissemination." Participants must swing lightly and clean up their mess. All leftover pillows will be donated to two Manhattan no-kill animal shelters to make bedding for puppies and kittens. The fight kicks off at 3 p.m.