The Method, The Madness and The Mystery—Part 1

This is how those Apoxie® Sculpt tubs look like to me.

This is Part 1 of a how–to series that explores the various techniques, philosophies, goals, and screw ups challenges that come into play when I sculpt a new piece. In it, you'll follow the creation of Himmlisches Herz, a Dutch Heavy Draft stallion in approximate 1:12 scale, happily galloping in the snow. His name means "Heavenly Heart" in German, "Himmy" for short, and he's the first draft horse I've sculpted for production as an edition.

Brace Yourselves

To start it all off then, this Part 1 is a kind primer, an introduction, to the mayhem that's about to ensue. Why? Because this series is being written as I sculpt. There's no planning. No organization. No sequential logic. You're going to get the play–by–play as it unfolds. So if things seem chaotic, nonsensical, disorganized, haphazard—even a bit mad—that's just standard operating procedure here. Really, "method" should be regarded only in the loosest possible interpretation because I pretty much wing it with each piece. Besides, what's creativity without adventure? 

This sums up my sculpting sensibilities. (The Mincing Mockingbird is my personal visionary.)

You'll probably notice some eccentricities in my methodology, too, such as how I measure proportion, my sculpting sequence and some of my prerogatives, but we'll get to all that later. But most of all, I aim to complete this fun fellow by March 5th (give or take a week). This impending deadline is deliberate, it being a kind of artistic exercise for me as well as a personal dare. I figure the best idea when back in the proverbial saddle is to start with a good gallop!

I'm also not convinced that the correlation between quantity of time and quality of art is infallible, even when it comes to realism. Granted, realistic equine sculpture is a highly technical, specialized art form that cannot be rushed—it takes a goodly amount of time, resolute discipline, and painstaking attention to detail to ensure a quality piece. But I also remember the brilliant sculptures that were finished in relatively short order along with those works said to have taken inordinate amounts of time, but were seriously flawed regardless. I believe that our dedicated efforts should gift us with an economy of action so that our processes speed up and our problem–solving more targeted, with only the logistics of the media or the events in our lives to slow us down.

Yet even with all that, the rapid deadline is for Himmy's benefit, too. This sculpture portrays a draft horse galloping in the snow, right? Sure. But only at first glance! Dig deeper and we find he presents an enticing challenge. How? Consider the circumstance this piece encapsulates: an enormous 2,000 lbs (907 kg) animal speeding nimbly at a gallop through billowing snow. That's quite a juxtaposition of opposites!

We'll get to those issues next time, but meanwhile I have to consider this: a piece like Himmy often does best with a sense of urgency. A sculpture heavily dependent on motion is at risk of being overworked into a duller version of itself. And I do love the initial stages of bulking up an armature. Those blobs of clay and the casual abstraction born of working rapidly seem to capture the essential energy and charm that should lie at the core of the finished piece. And I've found, at least in my case, the faster I complete a piece like Himmy, the more of that primary energy is preserved.

Getting a bit ahead of myself—I love the armature stage! There's so much excitement when creating a new piece, and somehow that energy pours into the armature. My job is to keep it in there!

We're going to explore these themes and much more throughout this series, but first…

The Common Question With An Impossible Answer

Years ago I wrote a how–to series for the RESS ezine, The Boat, documenting how I sculpted Oliver, my Haflinger foal sculpture. Aptly entitled "The Birth of a Foal; The Method to my Madness," it helped to answer the common question, "How do you sculpt?" I'm often asked this question, as are many sculptors I'm sure, since the sculpting process can seem both bewildering and intimidating to those unfamiliar with the process. 

The upside is that I can go on and on about process, inspiration, and creative choices until the cows not only come home, but have a leisurely dinner, sleep and dream lovely bovine dreams, wake up the next day and then meander back into the pasture…and I'd still be yappin'. And so a simple question is thus transformed into an epic saga spanning back to my first fumblings with crayons, my wee noggin filled with yellow and purple ponies romping around on stick legs and swishing broom–like tails. The downside, of course, that an otherwise curious, life–loving soul is turned into a glassy–eyed, life–hating zombie in no time at all.

So having blathered myself horse (ha ha!) and having created legions of traumatized zombies over the years, still…I must admit it's no easy question to answer. Oh heck, who am I foolin'? It's unanswerable! Sure, I can convey some aspects. I can even demonstrate some ideas and methods. I may even be able to relay some creative insights beyond structure or technique. But after all is said and done, the indescribable complexities of the whole experience knit with my own inner workings to congeal into a convoluted mish–mash unique both to me and and the piece. This is true for every artist, and why an artist and her work are essentially the same thing.

It's also a matter of complexity. Despite how it may appear, realistic equine sculpture isn't just smooshing clay around until it looks like a horse—that's only the welcome by-product of years of study and practice. Skill makes anything look simple. So asking an artist how she sculpts is akin to asking a neurosurgeon how she performs brain surgery. Said another way, the question itself is so oversimplified that, quite literally, the only applicable answer is, "Well, I just sculpt it." That isn't to be rude, but to demonstrate the problematic nature of the question and, if anything, it reveals how perplexing the process can seem to non–artists.

Adding spice to the pot, each piece has a strange tendency to take on a life of its own. Honestly, every piece I've ever sculpted has seized control as if to use me as a conduit to self-actualize itself into being. It's the sculpture that makes my decisions and will even disagree with me and, curiously, always wins the argument. Even more curious, each sculpture seems to shape me in equal measure—we create each other. I'm not yankin' chains when I say that every time I finish a piece, I marvel, "I did this? How in the world?…I can't believe I sculpted this!" But my experience isn't unique—it's a common theme in many studios. Who can say what moves an artist to create as she does, but describing how a clear, complete idea in the hands of an experienced, confident sculptor always goes sideways simply because the sculpture "felt like it" is tricky to explain, at least without sounding like a complete goofball.

As if that wasn't enough, methods evolve in tandem with the artist. It's not just a matter of finding better techniques, either. Sometimes certain approaches simply fit with one's nature or way of working, or perhaps certain steps have a deep meaning that lend depth to the process. So it's not just the finished work that speaks of the artist's personality, but also the means by which she created it. This is why each piece is a kind of creative time capsule, a snapshot of the artist's essence.

Compounding all this, artistic creation is a solitary pursuit. Despite our collaborations or group efforts, and regardless of workshop settings, social settings, or shared studio arrangements, we retreat into our own mindspace the moment we focus. And so, sequestered in our own internal world, the creative experience is entirely our own, and our relationship with a piece is both deeply personal and very private—and there's no way to actually share or convey this experience in the full breadth of its bearing. Being so, the only way then to truly understand how I sculpt is to essentially be me. But again, this is true for any artist and, in this way, creativity is a struggle to make the intangible within all of us real, to be shared, to communicate and to connect.

In this sense then, the question really isn't how I sculpt, but why I make the creative decisions I do that culminate in a finished sculpture. It's really the whys that reveal far more because think about it—an artist has an infinite number of choices at any given moment when creating a new piece. It's not just a matter of an ear flick, head turn, leg position, or tail swish, either. It actually has far more to do the flick of the sculpting tool, the angulation of a plane, the texturing of an area, the accentuation of something here but not there, the smoothing of a feature like this but not like that, and a myriad other critical choices that go beyond mere posture, expression, or design. So asking the whys for those specific choices gives us insights into the artist's inner workings that can provide more useful ideas to take back into our studio.

How to Put The Impossible Answer Into A Useful Perspective

Put all this together, and there's really only one notion that best describes creativity: it's a mystery! Even to the artists themselves. And that's a wonderful thing. So while we may organize our thoughts or formalize our methods to teach them, or even streamline our techniques to facilitate productivity, it's that ephemeral component that always keep us guessing, wondering, and exploring.

That said, none of this precludes our sharing what we can. And let's face it, one of the fun things about creating art is sharing! It's also good for people to know a bit about an artist's process and motivations, if simply to gain a deeper appreciation for the ideas and efforts that percolate in the studio. It helps others to connect with our work and gain a better understanding of us on a personal level, too, because art is as much about our pieces as it is about our processes and our personality.

We also help other artists when we share. Heck, working in the same art form means we're all going to face similar challenges and probably have to problem–solve similar aspects. The more brains that work a problem then, the faster that problem is solved, and the better off we all are in this demanding art form. And even if we use the same methods and the same tools, our results are still going to be different thanks to that magic intermingling of self and stuff that lies at the heart of the mystery. Our work is as individual as we are, and that's brilliant. 

But before we start, here are some suggestions to keep this series in a useful perspective:

• I'm only able to relay those components that can be broken down into shareable bits through images or words. Yet art is something learned through "feel" and there's no substitute for doing. So for the hands–on experience, I highly recommend Lynn Fraley's workshops. They're well–designed, artistically oriented, and lots of fun!
• Always remember that what works for me may not work for you. Our methods aren't sacrosanct, but are just individually custom–designed habits, formalized steps that create a kind of predictability and comfort zone. So feel free to tweak any techniques I present to fit your own sensibilities and needs.
• Similarly, the materials I use aren't for everyone, but the methods are certainly adaptable to any sculpting media. In fact, I use the same ones in slightly different ways for epoxy, ceramic, PMC, and oil clays. So please don't feel obligated to use the same sculpting medium I do. Instead, it's often better to simply use your own and adapt my techniques.
• Put all that together and it means this: using the very same techniques and the very same materials that I use isn't going to produce the same results I achieve. Only I can produce those results because I am me—remember, that's the mystery of creating art. The best I can do is to convey some of the ideas that got me there, and the best you can do is take what you find useful and make it your own. This is how sharing techniques is so much fun!
• The paradigms that guide my choices are founded on a blend of modern science and my own ethics that rest entirely on the well–being of the horse, from an evolutionary and biological point of view. I'll explain as I go, but know that Himmy will have features not present in my older pieces only because I've learned new information that produces different choices.
• Please direct all questions to my Facebook studio page or email them to me. Keep in mind that I intend to share emailed questions on my Facebook studio page, since chances are if you have that question, so do others!
• Don't be afraid to make mistakes. Rather than think of each mistake as a failure, instead think of each mistake as a learning opportunity, a chance to explore, question, and discover something new. Sculpting equine realism is one of the most difficult and demanding art forms ever, and you aren't going to master it any time soon, even if you have natural talent. So kick back and enjoy the journey…and be kind to yourself. And keep in mind that I've been sculpting for over twenty years. I've made a lot of mistakes, learned from them…and I intend to make many more.

So in the spirit of the method, the madness and the mystery, let's kick off this sculpting series! We'll jump right in with Part 2, but until then you can download "The Method to my Madness" to start greasing the creative gears. In the meantime…stay creative!

"The act of creation, making anything, is an alteration. We cannot eliminate the medium or ourselves from the process, and both are limited. We create decisive moments by devoting our time and attention to specific things. This is the greatest gift we can give anyone or anything—pieces of our life." ~John Paul Caponigro

The Method, The Madness and The Mystery—Part 1

A Well-Used Eraser

I just finished struggling with a "Lighthouse" installment for the Winter 2010 issue of The Boat, so now it's up to the proofers to hack away at it. This particular column is devoted to the contemplations we realistic artists might face in our work -- the difficulties, the triumphs, the confusions and our moments of "ah HA" in order to try and put it into a kind of useful context.

And this particular installment was about realism -- what it means, what it means to an artist and how we can keep perspective on the whole messy concept. I became inspired to tackle this subject at Brookgreen Gardens, because there, in one collection, were perfect examples of what I wanted to discuss. I actually started it over Thanksgiving, tappin' away on my trusty Mac laptop in the hotel room, and cogitated it on the five hour trip back home, then wrapped it up this morning. But my struggle wasn't because I didn't know what to say, it was because I didn't quite know how to say it. Now for years I've heard the assertion that realism is difficult to pin down, and that's true, but only true to a point. A rather finite point, actually. After twenty years in this biz, I realize it's actually pretty easy to pick out those pieces that are more successful in that department...but only when you understand what "reality" means. That's the tricky part.

The problem comes when having to describe in words what precisely makes a piece realistic. I discovered it's actually darn well near impossible because what is realistic is something we determine when seen, not when described. We can yap for days about the muscle groups attached to the femur in great detail, but until we see it and make our own comparisons can we actually begin to get it. This is why such attempts fail and why learning realism in this way is incomplete, and why I wasn't going to touch that task with a ten-foot pair of calipers. But this not only makes life challenging in the studio, it makes for a kicker of a conundrum when writing about it!

This brings me to my well-used eraser. The process of attaining more realism in my work has been littered with pieces I wish would be erased from existence. I think we all have those floating around in our past. But from my vantage point now, I realize that mistakes are part of the process, so with a bittersweet smile, I tolerate them. But I do admit that I'm desperately curious to know how I'll see my current work ten years in the future. I do hope I have that same bittersweet smile.

Anyway, I remember in a drawing class in junior high, the teacher -- I'll call her Mrs. T -- reiterated again and again, "Don't be afraid or ashamed to use your eraser! It's there for a fabulous reason and isn't it wonderful to erase your mistake and start over fresh? You get to change your mind as often as you want!" That has perhaps been the one thing that has stuck in my mind from junior high. Not math. Not English. Certainly not French. The eraser bit.

I do love my eraser -- it is my freedom and my power. I use it with abandon and I'm never ashamed when I do. I'm wary of the drawing that wasn't liberally erased in various areas. I distrust it. It's too confident, it's too bloated with its own certainty. When that happens, I know I've royally hosed something up somewhere!

And so it was with the Haffie mare. Lo - I thought she was near done, but something nagged at me. Something just didn't seem right -- you know the feeling. You know in your gut when something is finished. And, no -- no gut feeling yet. I think of my eraser. It's the mane. Yes. It went on too easily, with no eraser marks. It's too simple, too...what's the word...easy. So off areas must come with the eraser -- er -- dremel. We'll see where we go from there.

And so it also was with my Christmas ornament. I decided to make a rubber stamp to squish a design into a slab of clay because I simply ran out of time to sculpt something, make a mold of it and figure out tile pressing all in one go. But for two weeks I've hashed out designs and wrestled with ideas, creating intricate compositions and complex lay-outs to the point where I drew myself into a tight, uncomfortable corner. None of them seemed right. None of them screamed, "I'm the one and you know it four-eyes!" Argh! This doesn't have to be so difficult! Why is it so difficult?!

Ah. The eraser. Wipe the slate clean and start again.

So there I sat, with a clean slate and a fresh open mind. I thought -- this whole stamp and slab-rolling thing is a rather spontaneous idea. Kinda on the fly. Why not have the design be something equally impetuous? I decided to play a game with myself -- whatever I drew in one go would be it. It doesn't have to be realistic, it doesn't have to be what I've done before, it doesn't have to be inside my comfort zone and it doesn't even have to be pretty -- it can be something totally new, weird and wild.

Ten minutes -- done. And it's shouting, "Hey four-eyes! I'm the one!" YES.

"A thing long expected takes the form of the unexpected when at last it comes." ~ Mark Twain

A Well-Used Eraser

Bald Head Island and Brookgreen Gardens

Hello from Bald Head Island!

Now it's time to divulge the glory that was our trip to the east coast! I figured I'd better get this posted sooner rather than later so I can move onto studio work. I can only focus on one thing at a time, and with beaches and Brookgreen buzzin' around in my brain, well...I had to exorcise that before I could move onto little stock stallions, paint jobs and Haffie mares! So...onward!...

As I said -- family vacations of this magnitude are the stuff of legend, and this trip certainly lived up to that promise. In a word, it was brilliant. Great company, great sights and great experiences. And enough artistic inspiration to fuel my creative yens for years to come. Like I said, I need an army of clones. Anyway, again I'll indicate my own images with a "*" so you can tell them apart from the general links. Also, each of the photos has additional commentary to add detail to this post. (And family? -- I'll be burning off CDs for each of you, with family photos which aren't contained in most of my images presented here.)

So onward!...Sunday the 11th, we head off at 4am to catch our flight. It was going to be a long day involving four airports -- ugh. I'm not a morning person by any means, but I was so excited, I popped wide awake at 3am. Happily, it all went smoothly and we got to Wilmington, North Carolina and our hotel without a hitch. Hubby hasn't been on many planes, unlike me, so it was fun to watch his fascination with flying through his "fresh eyes." As for Wilmington, it was our night stop (before taking the ferry in South Port, North Carolina to get to Bald Head Island the next day) and it was cool to think we were at Cape Fear! I'd seen both movies (though neither of them were filmed around Cape Fear -- poop!), and the history behind the place was interesting, too. Downtown was very nice, and very quiet, but having arrived on a Sunday, practically everything was closed for dinner. We ended up at the Hilton at the Ruth's Chris Steak house. It was the only place open! Ironically, though -- none of us ordered steak! However, we did have a marvelous meal of crab cakes, salad and roasted, stuffed chicken. And boy -- did we crash out to sleep that night. Luckily, we had time during our brief stay in Wilmington to wander around downtown with my Uncle Mike and his wife, Mary Teresa and here are some *photos I snapped.

The next day, another family member arrived, Mary Ann, and we all shuttled off to South Port to catch the ferry to Bald Head Island from the Deep Point ferry dock. To folks from the desert, the idea of taking a ferry to an island was thrilling, at least to me! A remote island that only had ferry access! Yes. So of course, myself, Hubby and Mom perched at the bow of the ferry, outside, snapping photos like mad and enjoying this exotic experience. Little did we know that big wakes from other boats could cause the ferry to bob up and down like a bucking bronco, and splash the sea over the bow of the ship! We missed getting soaked by mere inches -- it was a hoot, like the log ride at Disney land! We were silly and goofy, and of course having a ball. We must've looked like a bunch of greenhorn tourist dorks, but we didn't care. We got to Bald Head, amidst great excitement, and caught the complementary golf cart shuttle to our "cottage." I gotta say...if where we stayed on the island was what anyone considered a "cottage," I have to see what they consider a "house!" To my delight, I saw there was a hammock strung up on the top patio deck, looking out to the ocean. I instantly had big plans to sleep on it one night, but alas....Mary Teresa was right...it just didn't happen! (ha ha!) Even though the nights were surprisingly warm, I was just too tired to tromp up there and plop into it. Hubby and Uncle Mike got accustomed to the golf carts (as they were our designated chauffers), and I have to say...Ham got a real gleam in his eye while driving it! Motoring around in those things was a blast! We joked that we should have golf cart races, but alas...that never came to be. Here are some *photos I snapped during the chaos of the day. I think there was a total of fourteen of us all there, so you can well imagine the typical family mayhem throughout the week. Amen!

The next morning, Ham and I had to get up at o-dark-hundred to catch the early ferry back to the mainland in order to trek off to Brookgreen Gardens to meet Lesli and Addi for the day. We would have to spend the night in Myrtle Beach since there was no way we would be back to the Deep Point harbor in time to catch the last ferry back to the island that day. Ham also wanted to case the beach since there's a gigantic biker rally there that he wants to go to some day soon. Poor Uncle Mike was drafted to schelp us to the ferry landing at the break of dawn, but alas...as soon as he left to return back to the cottage, we see my cousins already there at the dock! They had a boat to go fishing for the day! DOH. Poor Uncle Mike! Anyway, I was glumly expecting to freeze my hinder off in a golf cart in the wee hour of the morning, but was stunned to find it was comfortably warm! Hazzah! So...off we go on our ferry, get our rental car and start our adventure to South Carolina to meet up with the dynamic duo. *Here are some photos I took during the day, before and after Brookgreen (since my Brookgreen pix have their own folder). So...we get to Brookgreen.

OK.

If any of you have seen The Beatles animation film, "Yellow Submarine," (one of my very favorite movies!), and if you remember the description of the undersea kingdom as, "An unearthly paradise...called Pepperland." Well....We found Pepperland.

OH. MY. GOOD. GOLLY.

'Youth Taming the Wild," by A.H. Huntington. A huuuuge stone sculpture, exquisitely sculpted and brilliantly composed.

I'll just say this -- if ever there was a place in all the world designed for the animalier's delight, this is it. If you have even the slightest opportunity to go - GO. Seriously. No -- SERIOUSLY. You can read more about Brookgreen Gardens here and about Anna Hyatt Huntington (one of the co-founders) here and here and here. She is one of my heroines! Aside from her remarkable talent, what I admire about her is her drive to bring people together to enjoy realistic sculpture and promote the art form. Anyhoo, you can read and see more photos on Lesli's and Addi's blogs here and here. (Lesli is going to post a bigger report on her Brookgreen experience with us, so stay tuned on her blog for more!) As for myself, I've uploaded about two hundred images both Ham and I took (slimmed down from the 1,000+ images we took there!), which you can see *here. It'll take some time to savor these images, so grab a cuppa and enjoy! Again, each image has commentary to add detail, and feel free to download any image for your own reference or enjoyment.

The naturalistic energy and perfection of this African Elephant bronze sculpture totally blew me away. Alas, I forgot to record the artist! Shame on me!


"Scratching Horse" by Amory C. Simons, bronze. The genius of this humble little piece took my breath away. I was left stunned and amazed.

Another view of this master work.


"Adonis" by Eli Harvey. Consummate perfection. Truly extraordinary.

Now you may be thinking -- gosh, with all these photos, I've seen everything at Brookgreen! There's no point in going! Oooooh no. No way, Jose! Not only do none of the photos capture the true genius of any piece we shot, nor do they present all the sculptures on display (there are 1,200 works in the collection!), but the place itself is an experience. Being there is where you catch the magic! And studying the pieces up close, in detail, is mind-blowing. To see the vision, technique and personal touch of each artist is truly inspiring. We were also delighted to find out that Brookgreen has sculpting workshops! So my wee brain instantly thought -- what a grand excuse to return!

The entire week's weather was predicted to be rainy and ooky -- except for Tuesday! Somehow the planets aligned and we were at Brookgreen on the one glorious day of that week -- and glorious it was! Amazing! And I must say, the experience was made even more fabulous by the terrific company Lesli and Addi provided! It was great having Lesli as our tour guide, too. We spent seven hours walking around the place -- we closed the place down! I filled up a whole 4GB memory card and half of another with my camera -- blorg!

Hello from Brookgreen Gardens!

And I had wanted to see spanish moss while in the South (by gum), and boy -- did I see spanish moss in the Gardens! Yes. The gardens themselves were breath-taking!

A stone griffin in front of old oaks, dripping with spanish moss

There was even a little zoo of native wild and domestic critters, and I included some photos in my album. I've long wanted to create a series of equine native land races in America, and seeing the Marsh Tackys was a real impetus to churn ahead with that project. So enjoy all the photos and consider Brookgreen Gardens a destination you must visit at some point!

Beautiful Marsh Tacky mares

Through the "dog gate," a fitting end to an unbelievable, wonderful day!

After we had ravished the Gardens, we headed to Myrtle Beach to check into our hotel and get some dinner (you can read a bit about our dinner adventure on Lesli's blog). Then we walked about two miles down the beach, and back again (as if we needed more walking, but hey -- it's a beach!) -- then crashed in bed. We all met for breakfast the next day, said our good-byes and we headed back to Deep Point harbor and Lesli and Addi headed back to Charlotte to cook more shiny ponies. We had some time before the next ferry, so we decided to catch some lunch in South Port...at the Surfers Restaurant.

The local blue-hair hangout. Good food and good senior specials!

OK -- now it would seem like a totally hip local place, but we walk in and it's full of "blue hairs"! We look at the menu and see a whole host of "senior specials"! No wonder. But (not surprisingly) the food was delicious! I had my first hush puppies, and my shrimp burger was fabulous and Ham really enjoyed his homemade pulled pork sandwich. I guess those seniors know where the good food is at! We also got four pounds of head-on giant shrimp (which were turned into a tasty jambalaya for the family dinner that night!), which you can buy from vendors on the side of the road who catch them in their shrimp boats the night before. Anyhoo, here are some *photos I took of Wednesday. What as really cool about this trip (too!) was that my Aunt Christine and Uncle Jerry celebrated their 50th Wedding Anniversary! HOW COOL IS THAT? Congratulations! We all got verklempt with the wonderful slide show their kids put together for them. Then Susan and Chris shared a slide show of their trip to the Galapagos Islands! Holy moley, was it cool! What a tremendous experience for them! Thank you for sharing all that with us!

Thursday we spent hangin' out with the fam and seeing the sights on the island. First we took a tour of the island's lighthouse, "Old Baldy." I'm bonko over lighthouses. Always have been. I've long wanted to take a coastal tour down each coast of the lighthouses, and hopefully I can do that eventually. Anyway, Old Baldy was terrific! Quite a character, out on his island overlooking the Atlantic. What a grand old guy!

"Old Baldy," the quirky old lighthouse on Bald Head Island. Ya gotta love him! And yes -- we climbed to the top. GACK. Got some great shots of the island, though, which you can see in the link to my photos.

Then we toodled off to go fishing with the "other kids" (even though "us kids" are in our 40s, to the older generation of the fam we're still "the kids" -- love it!). I gathered more shells while Ham and the rest of "the kids" fished. We then took a hike through the forest on the island, which was unexpectedly exotic and full of surprises, such as seeing gigantic, beautifully twisted oak trees, and we even saw a deer (though don't ask me how deer got onto the island)! Susan pointed out an incredible big, colorful spider, which I couldn't photograph since my camera couldn't focus on it (dang it -- I forgot about my macro setting!). Ham quickened his pace away. "NO! NOT interested, thank you!" he politely retorted. We then got back in time for more fishing into the evening (Ham caught four fish!), then dinner. My cousin Amy introduced Ham and me to the game "Apples to Apples," which was a riot to play -- there were six of us in this raucous game! I must get it -- we love fun board games! I almost won the first game (Susan beat me by one card!), but I won the second game -- yes! We got back to our "cottage," packed up to leave the next day (since Friday was when we had to head back to Wilmington for that night, to fly out on Saturday to home), then crashed to the sound of the waves. To see photos of Thursday, please go *here.

*Friday we saw a wonderful tugboat (I love tugboats) called "Captain Alex." My brother's name is Alex, and so he'll probably never hear the end of it. Sorry little bro! We got to our hotel just fine. Mom and Dad were bushed, so Ham and I decided to got out to dinner and bring something back for them. We ended up going to Sticky Fingers, since Ham loves ribs and BBQ, and it was within walking distance of the hotel. And when in the South!...BBQ is king! We got the dry rub ribs and oh my gosh -- were they good! Ham devoured them in reverent, grunting silence. I particularly loved the sweet potato casserole that came as a side. We headed back to the hotel, dropped off the food to Mom and Dad, and crashed, watching the Syfy channel (the latest episode of Sanctuary and Stargate Universe -- yes!). But what struck us as completely insane about the area was the total lack of sidewalks! The hotel and restaurant are on opposite sides of a very busy main thoroughfare, where cars are going about 40 miles an hour, and there are no sidewalks to cross the street! WHAT?! Even the signal lights aren't timed for people crossing the road at the corners. So you just have to run! So we were the frantic chickens who crossed the road -- twice -- in order to get to Sticky Fingers and back to the hotel. We asked everyone we met, "What's the deal with no sidewalks?" and they were as incredulous about it as we were! Totally nuts.

Saturday we got to the airport via a rather eccentric taxi driver. "Everything here kills you -- alligators, biting flies, mosquitos, water moccasins, sharks...this place is hell." Ok, then! We got home just fine (though we almost missed our connection to Phoenix! Yow!). Man...were we completely wiped out. I don't know what it is about plane travel, but it's exhausting. Thank goodness for my iPod. I listened to the Mediaeval Baebes, Loreena McKennitt, Siouxsie, and PJ Harvey (now there's a mix!) all the way there and back. I threw in a bit of The Clash, as well.

Ham shot this photo of the setting sun while we flew over Prescott Valley, AZ. We said, "Hi Uncle Mike and Mary Teresa!"

What a tremendous time! Holy cow! Thank you family for a fabulous trip, and thank you Lesli and Addi for your wonderful company! And thanks Hammy -- it's always a treat to share adventures with you!

We've been in a goofy post-vacation daze ever since we got back. Watching DVDs of one of my fave anime shows, Lupin the 3rd, has helped jostle my brain back to normal activity. When you have that kind of stimulation overload, all you really want to do is stare at a wall for a couple of days. Regardless, we were sure surprised to see that Fall greeted us off the plane! Hello! We leave green trees and come back to Fall in our faces. It's gorgeous here, and I'm starting to get into the holiday mood. I wonder when the first snow will fall? Time to think about my 2009 Christmas Rune Deer...

"Three grand essentials to happiness in this life are something to do, something to love and something to hope for." ~ Joseph Addison

Bald Head Island and Brookgreen Gardens

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We'll be leaving for our trip back east shortly for the big family beach vacation. So far, it's been hectic. Ya think we were staging a Mars landing. I'm sure you know how it is, these family vacations. The stuff of legend!

Besides having a rockin' good time with the fam, an added bonus is carousing with Lesli and Addi at Brookgreen Gardens! I have been wanting to visit that outdoor sculpture garden for years, ever since Lesli told me about the place. Acres and acres of gorgeous gardens and realistic sculpture! Trust me -- I plan to take lots of pix! Granted, I haven't posted my previous trip here yet, and now I have another one -- yow!

Suffice to say, I wasn't able to finish that paint job before I left. DOH! But perhaps coming back to it with a fresh eye will be a good thing. I also intend to dive back into Little Miss Haffie and get her done done done. Crickey.

So I'll have loads to show-and-tell when I get back -- prepare thyself.

"Be an explorer. The universe is filled with wonder and magical things." ~ Flavia