A Day At Devon...And Then Some

For my Bachelorette Party in 2000, I was whisked away by three long–time buddies for a weekend of wine and wackery in Napa, California. It was such a blast that it became a tradition that we four regroup for a Lost Weekend once a year, each at a different location. And this year we decided to take in the prestigious Devon Horse Show in Devon, PA since the four of us are lifelong horse–crazy girls. Started in 1896, Devon is the largest and oldest multi–breed horse show in America, and it's been on my Bucket List for ages. And seriously, what better way to check it off than with my bodacious, pugnacious pony posse?

We had Grandstand tickets for Friday, allowing us to enjoy everything from Roadster Ponies to Five–Gaited Saddlebreds to Coaching classes to Stadium Jumping. For a horse–lover, it was truly a smorgasbord! And for an artist like me, it was gleaming, snorting parade of redunkulous awesome! 

The Saddlebred is a distinctive American breed, bred to be stately, easy–gaited, intelligent and tractable. They're naturally high–headed and high–stepping, and many have an additional fourth and fifth gait, the Slow Gait and the Rack, respectively, the latter which is very fast and thrilling!

Another lovely Saddlebred—this breed is known for its presence and charisma, as you can see here.

It was so cool to see Kathleen at work! She's a very talented sculptor who imbues her pieces with lots of energy and life.

Stadium Jumping is a popular sport, albeit very dangerous! Those jumps are much bigger in life than they look in the photo, easily almost as tall as I am and about three feet apart. And that's a 17hh stallion! Isn't he handsome?

Devon is one of the biggest and most prestigious competitions for driving in the world, and we were lucky to have a whopping eleven brilliant coaches competing from around the world! In this class, the driver must maneuver his team and coach through the course laid out by a series of paired cones without knocking the oranges off the top—and there are lots of tight turns and expert strategy involved. If they do, they're penalized points which counts against them in the placings. Essentially, this is the Stadium Jumping equivalent of driving. Getting four horses to the same level of schooling and working together as a team, while keeping them sound, healthy and happy, is essentially an art form in itself.

Guy McLean was also there from Australia, demonstrating his horsemanship skills. One of his horses, Nugget, is a Breyer horse, too! And yes—that's a horse under there!

To keep us fed, Kay prepared a fantastic homemade brunch and picnic lunch—complete with champagne! A cheese and paté starter then delicious dill and cream shrimp, a delish tomato and feta salad, and one of my favorite pasta dishes, The 5Ps: pasta, pesto, parmesan, peas and pine nuts! I porked out! We definitely dined in style between classes, sipping our bubbly and leisurely taking in the equine beauty around us, discussing which entries we liked most. It was seriously marvy. 

It was one of those totally perfect days—so thank you Kay, Steph, and Laurie! And I took a ton of reference photos for sculpture and my how–to books, since the variety of breeds and riding disciplines was so impressive.

All the hoofed lovelies were positively exquisite and meticulously turned–out—I don't think I've ever seen so many impressive, imported Sporthorses in my life! Such handsome creatures! The Budweiser Clydesdales were there, too, in all their massive, charming goodness. They're about 72" (183cm) at the shoulder and weigh between 1,800-2,300 lbs (816-1,043kg)! Yes, they are big! It was so cool to see that giant hitch maneuver in the ring, with the thundering thump–thump–thump of their dinner plate–sized hooves. I also got to see Kladrubers for the first time—white grey, regal beauties, living masterpieces. And Friesians! Those high–stepping, black beauties who prance right out of a dream! They were all uunbelievably splendid, and incredibly inspirational for clay. Heaven on the hoof.

There were also the Saddlebreds. Now I've never seen them in person, let alone in action, and, boy—was I floored. I'm still blown away to tell the truth. I've had a Saddlebred stallion sculpture in the works for some time now, but he's really big, much larger than 1:9 scale. Depicting the older, original archetype in barefeet and natural tail, I was forced to put him on the backburner when the economy took a downturn due to higher costs induced by his size. But now he's been reinvigorated with new energy thanks to Devon! Being able to study and admire the real thing in person has really helped me with this piece, and I gotta say—more Saddlebreds will definitely be coming out of the studio! WOW. 

It was a long, wonderful day and we got back at midnight, thoroughly satiated on equine goodness, and me very much inspired for the studio. We all slept well that night. Now since we had a couple of extra days, we decided to do another of our favorite activities—be ridiculous while we watch some favorite movies, and just laugh until our sides split. Mystery Science Theater and Monty Python were definitely on the roster, and we were introduced to Wreck it Ralph, which instantly got absorbed into our lexicon.

Now I hate zombies because I think they make stupid monsters as far as monsters go, but I fell in love with the "Wreck It" zombie during the Bad–Anon Meeting. "GOOD! BAD! YOU MUST LOVE YOU!" became my tagline for the weekend. And the girls would ask, "Do you have your hatchets?" to which I'd answer, "Aaaaaaaaaghhhhh!", arm–flinging and all. And for the record, Steph bears an uncanny resemblance to Calhoun—which is awesome.

Sidenote: This being a five–day trip, Fate would have Laurie forget to pack extra pants! All she had were the pants she wore on the plane and a Fred Flintstone–esque dress. That's it. I kid you not. Don't ask why, it's just easier to accept it. Oddly enough, however, as I was packing for the trip, the Universe insisted that I pack twice as many pants than I would ever need for five days. I can't explain it—it just was a strange compulsion, much like carving Devil's Tower out of mashed potatoes. And we were all grateful.

But it didn't end there! OK—backstory time…for years, Laurie and Kay have been exchanging vintage cookbooks and recipes. Not the good ones, mind you. Oh no no no no. NO. I'm talking about the ones where various forms of unspeakable foodstuffs are entombed in gelatin and molded into jiggling nightmares. You know, that scary stuff from the 50s and 60s. That colorful, creepshow cuisine that killed off any sense of culinary decency our parents and grandparents otherwise might have had. Yeah—those cookbooks. 

And so Kay diabolically hosted a Regrettable Food Weekend, squarely aiming things at us that should never be combined, let alone draped in Jell–O. It was truly a dry–heaving, regrettable roundtable of gastric gourmangeddon. An abomination to all things from gourmet to greasy spoon to even gas station burritos.

I now totally understand why liquor and cigarettes dominated the social scene those days: you needed the really strong stuff just to get this gelatinous sludge down your gullet!

Kay, of course, documented the whole escapade with photos and incisive descriptions on her Facebook page for everyone's sadistic enjoyment. People followed along and posted comments as they watched us suffer and sputter our way through the malformed menu—and I gotta say that as questionable the experience was, we had a riotous good time! Let it not be said we won't suffer for a laugh! So if you're interested in hosting the same form of tantalizing torture on your loved ones, you can find some of these rancid recipes by Googling "regrettable food," or through this or this. Bon Appétit. And consider yourself forewarned.

But it wasn't all bad! As is traditional for our weekend, we indulge in every culinary hedonism possible, being the devout foodies we are. To that end, Kay's husband, Gary, graciously treated us to one of the very best meals I've ever mowed down at Bar Ferdinand, a Spanish tapas bar. Everything was brilliant, though my personal favorites were the cheese and apple foam "pops," the off–the–charts paella, and a lobster and roe cream dip, which I pretty much scarfed down all by myself. No remorse. We liked the place so much, in fact, that we returned a couple days later, and gorged on the best mussels I've ever had in my entire life—holy smokes, they were good! And there were these braised short ribs with roasted cauliflower that I know would have sent Ham over the moon in sheer euphoria. If ever there was His Dish, that was it. 

It was a good sign, I must admit, that the bar was based on Ferdinand the Bull, which still remains one of my favorite kids books. The story, the illustrations, and the idea of this big, hulking mass who seems scary on the outside, but is really a misunderstood sweet, gentle soul on the inside has captivated me since childhood. Heck, it's no surprise I married Ham—he is Ferdinand the Bull!

But it didn't end there! We were lucky enough to have Gary make us his famous crab cakes. Now I've heard of these spoken in reverent, hushed tones for years. They are the stuff of legend, of tall tales that grow taller every year. Now unlike Jim Gaffigan (who was also infused into our weekend hilarity), I'm a seafood junkie—and I'm freakishly obsessive about shellfish, in particular. So I've consumed just about every kind of crab cake across the country, and long maintained that the overall quality of a chef's seafood prowess can be determined simply by their clam chowder or crab cake. These dishes are sneakingly difficult to make well, and so the better they are, the more likely delicious the rest of the seafood menu.

And so it was that after biting into my first GaryCrabbyCake, I instantly understood its legendary status. Do you remember that moment when Anton Ego first bites into Remy's ratatouille? Yeah—that was me. It was the single best crab cake I'd ever had, let alone one of the best things I've ever chowed down! Served with melted lemon butter, it was pure ambrosia. So thank you twice over, Gary! You rock!

On our last day, the Regrettable Food Roulette continued with Banana Day, and it was just as heinous as you'd expect. And given how I hate bananas, the nasty was ramped up to Barfcon 1. But for the afternoon, Kay and Steph had a surprise activity planned! All Laurie and I knew was to pack clothes that could be stained, which was an intriguing prospect!

Again, Kay packed a picnic with chips and fresh, homemade mango salsa, plus two bottles of lovely cabernet: Turnbull and Clos du Val. After a cab ride into Center City, we discover we'll be playing at Painting With A Twist, a franchise operation that combines painting and partying! They supply all the materials and instruction, and you get to bring your fun, food, and vino. There were twenty of us in the class, and everyone was fun and the instructors were fabulous! 

Our target painting was of a Bird of Paradise flower with a colorful background, as the instructor led us through the process one step at a time. Think of it as a cooking class, but with pigments, brushes, and a canvas. But…well…I didn't want to paint that…and happily I didn't have to. Because what's also cool about this class is that they let you paint whatever you want—just as long as you have fun! So I decided on another subject, one of which I'm especially fond…

Now I haven't painted flatwork in nearly twenty years. We were using acrylic paint with two big, wonky brushes—"Big Daddy" and "Little Daddy"—six colors, and about an hour and forty–five minutes to work. I totally winged it. Oddly enough though, painting Godzilla not only came easily, but was a blast. I suspect that beautiful cabs, scrumptious mangoes, and maniac friends are an ideal combination! With the big reveal, the whole class and the instructors loved him…heck, one of the instructors begged to buy him. But nothing doing! Ham called dibs, and we're going to frame him and hang him in our front room. On the way home, a gal in the airport and two guys on my planes also wanted to buy him! But who doesn't love Godzilla!? What's not to love!? LOOK at 'im!

So here's the gang with their super cool paintings! We joked that Kay served as the "control group" since she followed the instructions exactly. And despite not being an artist, her painting was very well done—clean colors and lines with meticulous brushwork. That speaks well of the experience me thinks!

Laurie took a different route, creating a variation on the theme to great effect. It's moody, wistful, and a bit contemplative, and beautifully detailed. 

Steph took a completely different route, since she interpreted her background as more oceanic. If you look closely, you can see her peekaboo fish cleverly hidden in the pigment—it's a really cool effect! 

Throughout the weekend, we enjoyed all the wines and champagnes Kay had carefully selected based on our previous trips, and we ventured down memory lane with each bottle. Bottle after bottle. Oy. But each one was delectable, and attached to so many great memories! And we definitely added more this year. Incredible friends. Incredible food. Incredible libations. Incredible weather. Incredible experiences. Trollopfest 2014 was a smash hit, and though it'll be hard to top, I suspect we'll have a great time trying in 2015, our 15th anniversary! 

Thank you again, Kay, Steph and Laurie for another brilliant time! Totally "Turbo–tastic!" I miss you already so much, and can't wait for next year! Each of you is totally A Dynamite Gal!

"All right, ladies, the kitten whispers and tickle fights stop now!" ~ Sergeant Calhoun, Wreck–It Ralph

A Day At Devon...And Then Some

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

Brain Twist

My new banner for my Facebook studio page.

Ay chihuahua. What a morning. You probably notice two new things in the layout of this blog. First, the nifty animated portfolio on the right and, second, the new Facebook button just below it.

Suffice to say, there's nothing that gets your brain into the red zone than attempting to tackle something (1) new and (2) technological. Especially when you aren't technologically minded. Like me. And especially when the necessary information needed to create such things is so cryptic that you have to scour the net trying to find tutorials and instructions on how to use the dang programs or services. Does it really need to be that difficult? No.

But so much about effective teaching is accounting for the most basic bits of information typically taken for granted, but when unknown, holds up the entire learning process. "OK -- I know I need to make a new frame layer, but how do I actually do that without simply duplicating the previous one?!" ARGH. And, yes, I have those "Dummies" books, but lemme tell ya -- they are useless when it comes to these esoteric features. After much soul-searching and pleading to the powers that be on this matter, I came across this YouTube tutorial. I swear, I heard the trumpeting of angels when he spoke -- he understood how to communicate the steps to a rank beginner. Thank you, dude!

So voila! Animated GIF done! I still have to learn how to use the "opacity stopwatch" so each frame can prettily fade into the next, but this'll do for now. However, it's all fine and dandy to make such a fancy thing, but now I need to actually use it. So in I go to Blogger and spend more time careening through the gadgets, trying to get my animation to work. Nada. ARGH. Then I came across this tutorial in my last desperate moments. The missing element was the simple fact that I needed to host my GIF elsewhere and get the HTML code to pop into the HTML gadget in Blogger. So thank you tons!

Now, as for Facebook, that was a hair less painful because I quickly ran across this tutorial. Phew. So click the new Facebook button on the sidebar, and it'll take you directly to my new Minkiewicz Studios Facebook page. Yay!

I swear -- there would have been no way for me to have accomplished any of this without the vast gestalt of the net. We are so fortunate in this day and age that just about anything we need to know is at our fingertips with just a few taps on the keyboard. Instant information, and with endless options. It's a global classroom right in your own home! It also highlights the happy fact of just how many people are so willing and eager to be teachers to others. This always puts a smile on my face, every day. Anyway, I cannot imagine a life without the net now!

But that's definitely enough technology for now. I need to get more kiln shelves so I can get into tile production in earnest, and then dive back into Ms. Haffie. So back into the clay, paint and epoxy!

"Technology: No Place for Wimps!" ~ Scott Adams

Brain Twist

Hello from another planet....

I pretty much feel like Eppie (above) -- tired and blobbed out (well well well!). Only not as cute.

As fate would have it, I got sick as a dog* after the euphoria of Mayhem, and so I've been back under the comforter sleeping most of the days away. What is it with me and being sick this year?! I'm feeling much better, though, and should be as right as rain in time for Junefest, when Stephanie M. and Sonya J. arrive next week. Whoo hooo! Junefest is like the cold-painting and sculpting version of Mayhem, with just as much culinary indulgence.

Anyhoo...I was convinced to join Facebook during Mayhem, and did so about a week ago. As planetary alignments would have it, Facebook promptly decided not to recognize my password, and also has prevented me from resetting it. Is this divine providence? Whatever it is, I'm waiting to hear from the Facebook team to see if they can remedy the hiccup. If they can't, well...I'll cross that ether bridge when I get to it. I really don't want to open another account, and so I may opt out altogether. But who knows. I could just be cranky about it.

The good news is that in between naps, I've been able to work on the Haflie mare! She's coming along quite nicely now, and getting her "hair done." Take an in-progress peek from the salon....

I apologize for the fuzzy photo, but I'm so hopped up on cold meds it's a wonder I can operate the camera. She's going to be very "pasture-y" so that mane is flopped around every which way. I think it's so lovely when painters "follow" the flow of the hair in their coloration detailing, and this little lady will give them a fun canvas for that.

So today I'll be working on her some more, and pouring the first of the slip-cast Bjorns. The mold should be dry now and I'm so very excited to try it! This fun piece she created will give Sonya lots of fodder to learn how to pour, clean, claybody and underglaze her creation! And if I get my act together, we can play with the overglazing goodies Lynn provided me, too. I'm anxious to try them and it'll be fun to explore the media with fellow newbies together! And so....we flail! But laugh as we do!

So...time to set the tea on and get to mixing slip!

"As the artist matures she is continuously shaken by what she manages to discover: by the earth shifting beneath her feet once again, by her own amazed, ringing laughter." ~Eric Maisel

*I wondered about where this saying came from -- it's a rather sad thought! And lo...I found a plausible answer here.

Hello from another planet....